


Break the ice

by LizzyGal



Series: Toxic [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Canon-Typical Violence, Cum Play, Dark, Dark!Bucky, Dry Humping, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Gun Violence, Hydra (Marvel), Killing, Kissing, Mirror Sex, MurderKink, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Oral Sex, Rebecca Barnes is sassy af, Reincarnation, Resistance, Resistance Fighting, Shameless Smut, Shooting Guns, Smut, Snipers, Uniform Kink, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Watch me make shit up about weapons, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyGal/pseuds/LizzyGal
Summary: ::Part of the Toxic Hydra!Steve series. Bucky's Story::As Bucky recovers, he has some big choices to make about his future.As Bucky recovers, he also notices some changes in himself.As Bucky recovers, he has a few life changing nights with Rumlow's widow.:::Content Warnings:::Chapter one has violence. Lots of killing. Mentions of past abuse and mentions of sexual assault. And profanity. Plus the improper disposal of a dead body. Chapter three has gun violence.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Toxic [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857811
Comments: 106
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> :::Hello friendly readers!! So...this was supposed to be one chapter but, it was HUGE, so I am breaking it up into three. One big and two mediums chapters. LOL. We'll see how I do. Sadly, chapter one has no smut. Outrageous, I know. But character building and development and such. Plus the violence. Chapter two and three though...that's where the smutty stuff will be!! I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading this ongoing saga!!:::

Sounds of a cell phone going off caught his attention.

It’d been almost a year since Steve had found him. Since Steve brought him home and freed him from the hellish nightmare he’d been living. Granted it seemed the nightmare wasn’t entirely over. Hydra was in control of most everything. Although, now, he had some say in his life, he was able to make decisions. 

Like his decision to stay home alone. Steve asked several times if he wanted to join him on the business trip.

No.

He really didn’t. He needed some time alone. James needed time alone.

The boy and Steve’s wife were up in Queens visiting their aunt, while Steve was at a Hydra Conference in Toronto. Had it been ten or eight or even six months ago, he would have gone, leapt at the chance. The Winter Soldier, the Asset, Bucky, James…none of them really felt right. For so long he’d been nameless. Soldat. He felt like a confused dog sometimes that was lost, unable to find its way home. Not that he’d say it. At first because he couldn’t. Words had become foreign. Harsh, uncomfortable on his tongue. Now he wouldn’t simply because…he was different.

He was not Bucky, or Buck. He remained quiet still, selective of his words knowing that the thoughts he had were wrong. The thoughts he had were bad. Steve assured him that Hydra hadn’t broken him. Steve told him that nothing he’d done was his fault, assured him he’d never have to do those things again and would never ever be alone again.

At first, he’d taken comfort in those words. He needed to hear those words. He needed to be assured of those words as his brain recovered from the abuse, torture and drugs, from the freezing too. His body needed months upon months to recover. Only in the past few months, as old memories began to float to the surface like bubbles in water, during dreams and nightmares, when he heard familiar phrases and smells, as he wove himself back together in a new him, did he realize that he wasn’t this Bucky person anymore, not really.

He came very close to not leaving his room to find out who was calling.

On the floor of his room were journals. Many notebooks. All full of his writing in both English and Russian, full of sketches and lists. Memories. Dreams. Nightmares. Things he needed to remember. Things he didn’t want to forget. Places he only sort of remembered and flashes of things that weren’t very clear.

All from those first months here, in Steve’s house. They were so foreign now. They angered him as much as the world under Hydra angered him. Angered him as much as what had been done to him, as what had been taken from him and Steve. It simmered, growing noxious in its ever-spreading claim of his body, mind and soul, if it could be said.

Ringing.

Ringing.

A cellular phone, not the house phone.

On a few occasions he’d heard the ringing come from Steve’s room and then Steve or Peter, or his wife, or a variation of the two or three would leave. 

Resistance stuff, was what the young wife had said.

The boy, Peter, would pale and mumble then hurry away.

Steve would tell him, bring him and assured him when he was ready he could help, when he figured out what he wanted to do, Steve would help him do that. 

Until then, there was no hurry.

If Bucky wanted to join Hydra and lead the TacTeam, or become an Agent to work with Steve, he could do that. If he wanted to become involved with the resistance, he could do that too.

He could do whatever he wanted, when he was ready.

No pressure Steve had told him.

He was ready. He was more than ready to wreck unholy vengeance for every wrong done upon him. Did he dare do it here though? Where it would be found out by Steve that he was no longer his friend, his Bucky. Steve would find out that he was different now. More. Something else had grown in the shell of his friend over the past months. Did he dare stay? Or go elsewhere. Steve offered him safe passage wherever he wanted to go. He could go to California, or Canada. Succumb to the darkness fully there without a concern that Steve would stop him, or worse, try and save him.

Uncurling his legs, James stood and went to go search out the ringing sound. It drifted down the hallway from Steve’s marital bedroom. A place he usually avoided in such late hours. With the house empty, there was no chance in encountering anything weird in Steve’s bedroom. There would be no chance in walking in to see the young wife ripping hair out of her legs with cooled hot wax again. Or finding her with a black charcoal mask on her face. Or even worse, using his seven-inch hunting knife to trim her bangs because Steve and the boy hide all the scissors and knives, after she tried to cut off her plaster cast when her ankle was broken. Apparently, something had been wrong with the orange one and she wanted the blue one. James wasn’t solid on the specific details, but she had seemed convinced.

Without turning on any lights, he walked down the hallway and into the empty dark bedroom. Closer and closer towards the electronic sounds. Which, emanated from the Steve’s nightstand.

Ringing and ringing and more ringing.

It was in the second drawer down. Sliding around when he yanked it open, making the contents shift. The screen lighting up with the next ring and an unknown number on the screen.

Grabbing it with his metal arm, his thumb pressed the button and he held it to his ear, over the dark hair that he couldn’t yet bring himself to cut. People might figure out something was wrong with him, different.

A woman’s voice came over, full of relief.

The Widow Rumlow who lived across the street three houses to the right.

“Oh thank god Peter! I thought you were in New York already! I need you to come get me! Everything went bad and Glenn is dead. Linus ran off and I can’t drive stick. Plus, I’m at an abandoned truck stop and the natives are looking particularly rapey…if you know what I mean, I think they’re determining my possibility as a sister wife.”

James, that was what she always called him, got the general context from what she’d just gasped over the line to him.

She was in trouble.

He’d been surprised to learn that she was not only in the resistance. But, was a pretty high-ranking member of it due to her connections. She seemed to know everyone as a Hydra Widow. It almost gave her a pass to do as she wished. If she acted off, it was because she must have missed her husband terribly. No one pressed her to have another Arrangement made and she could fake cry very convincingly. He didn’t buy it for one second. She was an excellent liar.

“Where are you?”

A pause.

His voice had surprised the widow.

“James?”

“Where are you?”

**Just over the border…**

Where were you?

A question for the ages if there ever was one.

Where were you? How did you get here? What had happened in your life and in the construct of time and the universe and even the stars to lead you here?

But, if you were being totally literal, you were in West by-god Virginia. You were hiding in the woods, whispering to your late best friend’s brother, covered in blood and praying to every star in the sky that no one heard you. Because you were almost positive, based on their remarks, they had no intention of killing you.

You’d had a bad feeling about this pickup.

You couldn’t explain it. 

Just like the day you died.

You just knew something wasn’t right, something was off.

Everything had gone wrong then too. 

You could remember it just like yesterday. You’d returned home from your best friend, Rebecca Barnes’s, home, after some wedding planning. Your lifelong friend was getting married and you were the Matron of Honor. You hadn’t really wanted to go home. Not really. Not when you knew your husband had been home all day, drinking, out of work.

It was no shock that he’d killed you. 

He was so violent, so brutal. You’d known it was your time when you got home and he looked at you. It hadn’t been quick. It’d taken a while and was excruciatingly painful. Which had been something of a surprise. For some reason, you thought it would be quick. 

In church it was spoken about so peacefully, almost beautifully.

In your books and on radio programs, it sounded so poetic. You’d expected a bright white light. You thought you’d see your grandmother, perhaps some doves, maybe a few clouds.

No.

Pain. It was nothing but pain. Explosions of pain. Too much pain, far too much pain. It had felt like your body was ripped apart down to the cells, in your blood even. It felt like you’d been burnt alive from the inside out. No-one had ever mentioned death hurting so much.

And then…

You’d woken up in an explosion of light, throwing up saltwater on a beach somewhere that you should never have been. It was clear to you right away. Two thousand and ten was very different from nineteen fifty.

Of course, you’d had time to adjust, acclimate and settle.

You’d found Rebecca before Hydra took over everything. And then, that feeling came back, right before you found out you’d been selected to marry Brock Rumlow.

And now, that feeling had returned.

You really should have learned your lesson by now.

Especially now, hiding in the woods behind an abandoned truck stop. One that was only just still standing, gutted from a major fire, just over the West Virginia border with Maryland. It was way too early in the morning, or way too late at night, depending on how you looked at things.

After telling James where you were, to the best of your ability, as you didn’t exactly have specific coordinates for him and you were no Magellan, you turned the burner phone off so it didn’t ring. You weren’t about to make it easy for the people traipsing through the woods to find you.

Never ever again, were you ever ignoring, your bad feelings.

Nope.

Sure, there was also a strong chance you wouldn’t leave the house ever again.

From your little hiding spot back in the woods, so far back that you couldn’t even see the lights from the two cars that were parked by the moving van, you pondered whether you should try and make a run for it? Like that bastard Linus did? Or should you just hunker in and hope they gave up and just stole the truck loaded down with weapons that Glenn just bought? 

Next time you saw Phil Coulson, you were going to kick him right in the ass.

He swore to you that everything was good. Everything was fine. The new location that your seller had picked out was good.

Your seller, Kyle, was tragically dead and his Monster Energy Drink Swilling dude-bros in arms had taken off with his body, in their Mustang, when the dudes with guns had showed up. Linus hopped in the little compact that you three had driven down in and bounced. Not that you could blame him. If only you’d been just a little bit quicker.

Best as you could figure, from what you heard the men saying, as they looked around the burnt-out truck stop and then woods for you. They’d overheard one of the dude-bros talking about selling to the resistance. Dude-bro had talked about all the money they’d make from all the weapons and explosives they were about to unload.

You were half tempted to yell at them to just take the truck and go, the freakin keys were in it.

Unfortunately, that would give away your location in the woods, and your survival instinct would never allow that sort of thing. You’d heard what they were snickering about you. You wanted absolutely no part of that horror-show. When one of the bigger ones walked within a foot of the tree you were crouched behind, you heard him tell a super skinny guy that he was going first with you, since he was older.

Nope.

You’d stay out in the woods hiding all night if you had to and you did, you stayed hunched down behind the trees for what felt like forever. 

Hours passed. 

Several hours.

Not that you knew that because you checked. You only knew that because you heard them complaining. You heard them arguing about how long it was taking to find you. You heard them bitching about how much time they were wasting.

By then you were cold. Your legs were cramping and your back was killing you. You were ready to give into Phil’s incessant pestering that you work on Justin Hammer, to get information about his weapons. Hell, by that point, you would have given Justin the mother of all lap dances and steal his work computer yourself. This was ridiculous. Why on earth had you been wary about using your body to gain information? Hell, Captain Hydra’s wife had volunteered several times. But for whatever reason it never worked out. She could have gotten Hammer to tell her anything. Justin loved being around her at Hydra functions. Justin enjoyed being around you too, but, you’d shut down any possibility for funny business.

Well, that was about to change after this little adventure to West Freaking Virginia.

And then, a flashlight beam hit you square in the eyes.

***

It wasn’t hard to sneak up on them

They were untrained. They were loud. They were weak. They weren’t Hydra either. 

They were merely troublemakers trying to steal something that didn’t belong to them. James’s mind was clear. His body excited. This was familiar and comforting and he enjoyed it far too much. Uncaring if they had family or loved ones, if they were that concerned about them, they’d be home with them. He had no issue getting the better of three of them trying their hardest to get the back of the truck open.

He killed one with his metal hand and the other two with the first one’s knife. Tossing their bodies aside as if they were nothing more than human garbage. To him they were. No better than scavengers preying upon the weak, maimed or sick. Worthless. Weak to temptation. To him, they were worse than Hydra. Hydra who he despised. Hydra, at the very least, had some manner of principle, as deranged as it was. These men were no more than opportunists.

Oh how it felt good. Oh how it soothed him. Returning to this dance of violence and physicality. It felt rewarding. It felt right. No longer hiding his true self. It felt like he was exploding outwards from a cocoon that he’d been trapped and contained in for decades.

His body worked with an efficiency that was purely muscle memory. Just as fluidly as walking or writing. 

When one of them fired a gun at him. He lifted his metal arm to shield himself from the projectiles. Then he stepped closer to the man who could have been no older than twenty, if a day. Such information only registered in the sense that the person could be quick, agile.

Therefore, when he approached, covering the distance between the truck and wood-line, over pavement and beside burnt out remains of a large service station and fast food restaurant, he kicked the young male square in his chest. It was no surprise the male crumbled down to the ground, gasping, panicking from the amount of damage delivered with the powerful strike.

Yelling. Shouting.

James leaned down to pick up the weapon. A handgun. 

Not his favorite, but it would do.

Blue eyes narrowing when he stood back up to his full height, taking in the sight of more combatants. He looked for you too. If he was late and they’d done what you feared, he was going to have to make them suffer. James had never failed under Hydra. Never failed once when he was contained, leashed, restrained…he would especially not fail now. Not when he was set free at last.

Several males of varying sizes and heights came from the woods, a tall larger one dragged you out of the wood-line by your hair. 

You kicked and screamed and clawed at the man. He had difficulty controlling you and that movement made James hesitate to shoot. You were blocking his ability to get a clear shot.

Fortunately, there were others.

Raising the heavy piece of black metal weaponry, firing once.

One man fell to the ground, top of his head falling down around him in a crimson rain.

Yelling. More shouting.

A second man fell with a second pull of the trigger. His chest jerking violently as the round made impact.

Loud, deafening, an explosion into the dark night announcing this massacre to the world. A large caliber bullet that would do a significant amount of damage to its target. James’s ears rang. Acrid gunpowder burnt his nose and was familiar, nostalgic. A smell that he was very accustomed.

A hand grabbed his calf.

“James!”

You’d screamed his name as gunfire was returned. 

James.

You were one of the few who called him that. James. Not Bucky or Buck or Soldat. You called him by his name. James. Like an acceptance of who he was and what he’d become.

Another explosion of gunfire went off into the night and sounds of a struggle ensued. 

James.

It was his name. It felt as if he was being reborn to it. Starting anew. Emerging in a fog or gunpower and wash of blood.

Bucky, Soldat, the asset, Winter Soldier wasn’t what, or who, he was anymore.

You were fighting with one of the men over a gun. Making it discharge again, the shot wild, as the other man fought to get control over you, fought to get your hands off the other man’s weapon. An act of defiance. An act to protect James.

Quickly, James fired off a third shot, hitting one of the males going to help get you under control, only winging him. Sending that man stumbling, which was when he fired the weapon again, that shot connecting with the head and sending the man down.

Pain shot up his leg. Sharp burning pain.

A knife. He’d been stabbed by the little shit on the ground.

Resulting in another shot, that one went down, hitting the young male who he kicked in the chest. 

Irritably, he pulled the knife from his leg, flinging it aside.

His brain counted off. 

Three more. He had three more to get rid of and then you’d be safe.

Raising the gun at the big one hitting you from behind, he let out a hiss of anger with the weapon in his hand clicked. Empty. And that was when the last one came for him, not counting the two who you struggled with to the best of your ability.

This one needed to go.

He did not have time to deal with this one. A middle-aged fool who had at one point been trained. He came at him with some level of skill but a body long since condemned to inactivity. A fist came at his face that was knocked aside with his metal hand. 

Swift motions followed with hardly any effort.

A metal elbow to his throat. Spinning the man around. A flesh arm around shoulders as he gasped for breath desperately, metal hand grasping the jaw. A twist and thrust up, neck snapped with a wet crack and the man fell limp, gravity pulling him to the hard artificial earth.

James’s attention returned to you.

That man who’d you fought with over a gun, gone. Running into the woods without his firearm.

You still fought with the big guy who’d found you with the flashlight and quite literally, dragged you out of the woods, kicking and screaming, by your hair. Now he had the gun and was fighting you for it. God was he strong. There was no way you were going to be able to get it from him, or stop him from shooting Rebecca’s older brother. 

You weren’t stupid. You couldn’t overpower him.

You had quite the bad track record squaring off with men.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t get the better of him. In a rush of inspired desperation, you reached under his hand that was around the grip of the handgun. Your fingers searched for the little round button and…there it was. You pressed down. With a click, the magazine fell out and you then pulled on his hand, knowing there was one bullet left in the gun, in the chamber.

When the ground beneath you exploded and gravel hit your face from the sole remaining bullet making impact, you breathed a sigh of relief.

He couldn’t hurt James now.

He seemed to know it too. Cause he shoved you down to the ground so hard you bounced, grunted and saw fireworks…stars…bright colors but still, managed to curl up in a tight ball, knowing exactly what would come next.

Pain.

Pain always came next.

You were an expert in pain.

Pain never came, which was something of a shock. Still you remained curled up tightly in that ball. Peeking open, you saw the man fighting with James.

Or trying to.

Trying valiantly to fight.

He’d been able to overpower you with ease. He was having far more difficulty with James. You were so overcome with pain and adrenaline you couldn’t move. In debilitating terror, you watched James easily overpower your attacker. Which was silly, you shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d called the number you had for Peter and his sister hoping Peter was still home, Peter was enhanced and could have easily taken on the men. James was so much bigger, a Hydra trained super soldier assassin with a metal arm. Why wouldn’t he have been more capable of greater violence?

Rebecca’s brother didn’t fight with the man who pulled you from the woods. No. That would have implied it was a fair fight between two combatants. You watched him kill the man with his own knife. You watched James take the large knife from the man, a knife that looked like something Rambo would have and sink it into his chest at an angle. 

It happened so fast. You could hardly believe your eyes.

It felt like seconds had passed and the man was on his back, on the ground, arms reach away from you. Minutes ago, you’d been in a life and death struggle with that man convinced he would kill you, rape you or most likely both.

Your eyes looked over the bodies scattered around beneath the moonlight.

Carnage, pure and simple. There was no other way to put it.

Movement.

Suddenly, you jerked. You looked up to see James. He held out his metal hand to you. It was covered in blood. Both of his hands were bloody. There was a cold expression on his face, but he held still, he didn’t move as he waited for you to take his hand.

When he said your name, you finally reached up and took it.

James pulled you up to your feet and held onto your hand, as you became steady.

You were ashamed to admit it. You were a little frightened. You didn’t know what he would do, how he would react. You knew he was still recovering from what Hydra had done to him over the years. And you did not want to trigger something in him, you didn’t want him to hurt you too.

Unsure of what to say, how to say it or even if you should say anything. You softly spoke, remembering what Director Rogers had told you about James’s recovery last time you’d spoken. 

_He’s doing well. Every day is progress. Every day is a new day and it’ll take time. But, I’m not giving up on him._

Had you just destroyed months of recovery? You hadn’t even thought about that when you called on the phone.

“Thank you?” Fell from your lips softly, hesitantly. He’d just killed six people for you. What exactly did you say to that? 

He looked you over about as closely as you looked him over.

Loose jeans. Long sleeve shirts. Steel toed boots. He needed a shave and a haircut and was bigger compared to a year ago. Living with Steve and eating daily, working out, resting and not being tortured semi-regularly looked good on him. He was big thick walking muscle. Which Rebecca had found hysterical. You’d showed her pictures on your phone when you visited and gave her all the updates. She claimed he looked like a bum.

“Are you hurt?”

He was speaking more. Granted, he wasn’t about to lecture at Harvard for a semester. But you were getting more than maybe a one-word answer, or a grunt. A big plus. 

“I’m ok…” was all you could think up saying. What else could you say? You were alive. You were in one piece. No-one had brutalized you. Roughed up, yes. Bloodied, absolutely. Bruised, oh most definitely come tomorrow. Compared to what could have happened, you were within throwing distance of darn skippy.

It took you a second to realize that your hand clung to his metal one, as you looked around, surveyed everything.

“You called the boy? For this?”

Hell, at this point compared to months ago, he was practically ready to host one of those talk shows his elderly sister loved to watch.

You clung to his hand, following him across the pavement.

Had it suddenly got even colder? You were shaking and felt like a live wire. Never had you been more awake in your life. “What? Steve is away. Tony is who knows where. Who else was I supposed to call that could fight that many guys at once?”

In the dark he stopped.

You bumped into him, and for a second, thought something else had gone wrong. Which would have been odd. Considering your bad feeling had gone away. When you glanced around and then up, you saw him looking down at you, his eyes glittering in the dark.

Oh, you knew what that silence meant.

So you clarified, “In the resistance James. In the resistance. You’re not even supposed to know who the members are without being a member.”

“Invite me to join,” he said and not for the first time. His metal hand flexed just like a normal hand would against yours.

Membership was by invite only and the vetting process stringent. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to invite him. You would have in a heartbeat. However…there was another super soldier you dealt with on a regular basis. 

Knowing that James could make you out considerably better than you could in the dark shadows that covered him. You made a skeptical face. “Please James, Steve still gives me grief over his precious little wife being a member before him. You have to get his blessing first.”

A frustrated noise came from him in response.

He didn’t get angry or nasty with you. He did not swear or call you names. He didn’t even squeeze your hand. As if he didn’t feel the need to take his frustrations out on you. Truly a feat.

Oddly, even considering everything he had been through and struggled with, you never felt unsafe around him. Deep down, he was still Becca’s older brother. He may no longer have been jovial, charismatic or smooth. But he was still James. He was still a good person, a kind soul, helpful and courageous.

You were even getting used to the metal arm.

So his accent was mostly gone, so was yours. And you caught him speaking Russian on occasion. You could get used to that. You’d nearly shit a solid gold brick when you saw him with Steve after the bombing of the Triskelion. 

You weren’t going to lie.

You thought you’d seen it all. You thought you were the weirdest thing ever.

Then Steve and his wife moved in across the street. And after that, Peter Parker moved in too and then Bucky Barnes.

You almost dreaded to find out who’d move in next across the street.

Mr. and Mrs. Hydra had been the talk of the neighborhood when they moved in. You thought the HOA was going to just die from excitement. Until young Peter moved in and started mowing the lawn without a shirt on. Now Becca’s brother moved in with a metal arm and quite the impressive kill count.

You seriously were considering moving.

The last thing your life needed was any more complications. Periot. You were exhausted enough as it was on a daily basis and maybe checking the mirror more than you should have, just to see if the body that you popped into by some universal oops was melting or something. Because you were pretty sure whatever had happened to you, wasn’t supposed to happen.

Being lost in your head, you were somewhat surprised when James dragged you over to a pickup truck and handed you the keys. Opening the door after, pretty much blinding you with light from the interior that killed your night vision.

A few profanities may have escaped from you.

“Follow me in this,” he instructed, helping you into Steve’s pickup. Which you were so going to have to get detailed when this night was finally over. “Where do we take the truck?”

And you hesitated.

You were completely able to see the scowl that earned you from the cab, bathing him in light.

And it wasn’t that, no, not per say. Part two of the mission that was already significantly delayed. 

“Glenn’s still in there…” you sighed, glancing over at the moving van sized truck. “What do we do with his body?”

***

As it turned out, James’s solution to the question of what to do with Glenn’s body, was to throw it off a bridge about an hour over the Maryland border.

Now, you and Glenn weren’t exactly bosom buddies.

But, flinging his dead body off a bridge was a bit much, even for you. Had the truck not had a spray of bullet holes in it with blood all over the inside cab, you may have even protested. Priorities being what they were and the desire to not get caught driving a vehicle in that condition, packed full of weapons and explosives, was pretty high on that list.

After Glenn’s final departure, you eventually arrived at the waterfront warehouse down by the docks. Nearly seven hours late.

What could you say?

When you climbed out of Steve’s truck, which you were convinced didn’t need a detailing anymore, more like a bath in some gasoline and a match, you could see the unhappy look on an approaching Phil’s face.

“You’re late Mrs. Rumlow.” He told you right outside of the warehouse doors, where you’d told James to pull inside and park. You’d told him this would just take a minute and the van needed to go in the warehouse.

Looking snappy as ever as the sun rose, you gave Phil Fucking Coulson the dirtiest look you could summon up.

However, you were a lady.

You would not lose your cool or lash out. That was not your style. You were not raised that way.

As the sun rose behind you, you were able to see your reflection in a dirty tinted window. Your hair was a disaster. You had a black eye and blood smeared across your face. You were filthy. Still, you had to maintain some level of dignity.

So, as you adjusted the black silk sweater you had on and wiped your grimy bloody hands on your black slacks, you rather coldly answered. “Well, Mister Coulson. Our meeting at the new location was ambushed. Glenn is dead. Linus is in the wind. I was nearly murdered and spent hours hiding in the wilds of West Virginia. So next time you decide it would be _fun_ to change locations, you get to do the first one.”

Phil bristled.

Sounds of loud voices quieting down from inside the warehouse were obvious, telling you James must have hopped out of the blood-soaked truck cab. 

“I didn’t know it would be compromised.”

And you believed him.

Phil wasn’t the reckless type with lives of resistance members. Still though, it hadn’t been fun and you were beginning to really feel like hell.

“And I didn’t vouch for you to Mrs. Proctor, allowing you to fill this role within this organization so you could get me killed.” Was your cold retort. Perhaps mentioning the head of the resistance in the United States was a bit much. But you were not feeling one hundred percent. And for god’s sake, you came very close to dying, again. You were enjoying your new life. Ever since Brock passed, things had just gotten better and better.

Gulls screeched. Waves crashed against a pier mere-feet away. The salty early morning wind was making all your cuts and scrapes sting.

You were so ready to go to bed.

Phil almost looked contrite. 

His mouth opened and then snapped shut. “What’s he doing here?”

You could only assume Phil meant James. Or, as he would be familiar with him as, the Winter Soldier.

Still, for shits and giggles, you peered over your shoulder to indeed see the bloody, dirty, wall of muscle and early morning dark stubble approach. Near closer in a manner that could only be described as, hostile. And boy were you grateful.

“Oh, well Phillip, when I was hiding the wilds of West Virginia last night, getting hunted by a group of degenerates who felt the need to loudly expound upon the many ways in which they intended to violate me. I had a choice. I could call you. Or, I could try and call Peter and pray he hadn’t gone home yet. James answered the phone so I invited him.”

Phil’s gaze warily watched the Winter Soldier, who came to a stop behind you.

You knew what was on the tip of his tongue You could tell. You’d worked with him for years.

“Mister Coulson, are you questioning a decision made by your superior?”

“No ma’am,” was his response.

With a nod, you looked over at Steve’s lovely well-kept truck, from the outside anyway. “I will deal with Mrs. Proctor when I update her later today. If there is nothing else, I am going home. Call me if you need anything.”

Phil looked up to the Winter Soldier.

The Widow Rumlow had called him James. There he stood, bloody and messy. Those cold periwinkle eyes watched him closely. Observing, watching, listening. A new awareness was hidden within those blue orbs.

Phil would know. He’d seen more than his share of footage of the Winter Soldier when he was a SHIELD Agent. This assassin in front of him was not the Winter Soldier, it wasn’t James Buchanan Barnes either. Phil didn’t know who it was but it wasn’t Sergeant James Barnes.

James could see it in this man’s eyes. Phil Coulson. The man’s name had come up on more than one occasion over the months. He could see the distrust in his gaze and didn’t care. This man was weak. This man was a disgrace. This man had almost lost a truck of weapons, gotten one of his fighters killed and nearly led you to a worse fate.

His first act would be to kill Phil.

Looking Phil over from top to bottom and then back up. His nose twitched slightly in a hint of a scowl and his eyebrows rose slightly. As if looking over the man, appraising him, judging him and finding him unworthy. After that, he turned and followed you.

His night out with you had been quite eye opening, quite the experience.

“How much of a blood bath is it,” Phil quietly asked, suspecting you were out of hearing distance as you neared ever closer to Director Roger’s truck.

His question was not directed at you though.

James cocked his head back to meet Phil’s gaze. Had he not been distracted by you, it could have been significantly bloodier, far more rewarding. “Not my best work.”

Next time though.

Next time he’d be sure Phil knew he was thinking of him.

***

Because you’d been raised a certain way, you invited James into the home you used to share with Brock for coffee and breakfast. The man had saved your life. It was the least you could do. And, not that you wanted to brag, but, you made a mean breakfast.

Eggs, sourdough toast, bacon, potatoes.

You’d put a pot of coffee on and after showing him where the mugs were, where the guest bathroom was so he could clean up and how to work the TV with all four remotes, you went to go take your own shower.

Because no.

You needed to be clean.

You needed to not smell your own blood.

You needed clean skin. You needed to get in clean clothes. You needed fresh makeup and to scrub the dirt and blood out from under your nails.

You stepped into your scalding hot shower and immediately got to work. It took two hearty latherings with your special sponge before you felt cleanish. After that, you found yourself rubbing enough shampoo in your hair to wash a sheep. Which was when the shower curtain was pulled aside.

You were not amused.

You didn’t even have a chance to say a thing, before James climbed in. Filthy too and very nude. Incredibly nude. So very nude. And while it wasn’t like your renovated bathroom didn’t have more than enough room to accommodate the both of you, or your glorious shower. 

He was in your space.

It was your space.

And he seemed so clinical about it, so nonplussed.

Without a word, he grabbed your facial bar of soap and began to rub it over the sweaty wall of his chest. Nothing but muscle, layered upon golden muscle, leaving you wondering what it would feel like to run your tongue over that expanse of incredibly defined abdominals. Out of mild curiosity.

What you did, however, was grab his metal arm with sudsy covered hands of your own.

“Jimmy! That’s a forty-dollar bar of soap for my face! We do not use it like that…put it down…I’ll get you sorted, one minute please…” Sending you reaching for various things around the shower, your bottle of bodywash and that sponge you spent way too much money on cause it could exfoliate the moon.

The bewildered look he gave you was pure Bucky.

It made your heart ache.

He was standing right beside you, a body sculpted by the gods alone and filthy, totally uncaring about his nudity, your nudity. It was surreal. James didn’t think about his body that way. You were naked and he didn’t think anything more about it.

Sure, he thought your body was beautiful, but that was it.

That had been taken from him too. One more thing Hydra stole. Another thing denied to him, stripped from him.

Listening to you, he set down your expensive soap and watched you grab a sponge. His eyes took you in from beneath water that was unbearably scalding. Shit was it hot. Not that he would complain. He wasn’t going to take a shower in the guest bathroom. Not with Brock’s things in there. His things were in the guest bedroom. It had surprised him. He didn’t fully understand it.

“Why are his things in there?”

Squirting a healthy amount of bodywash onto the sponge, you began to rub his metal arm with spirit. He watched you roll your eyes, in a far from grieving widowly sort of way. As he sorta expected. 

“Brock stayed in his own room.”

Which was not unusual. Married couples had their own rooms back when James had lived. Although now, it seemed normal for married couples to share a bedroom. Steve had fully seemed to embrace it.

If you’d been given to him in an Arrangement, he would be sharing a bed with you. He would fully embrace sex again. He wanted to have sex. In the past few months, he’d begun to masturbate again. 

When he went home later, he’d masturbate.

He’d think about you. He’d go in his room and think about the way you call him Jimmy, in a taunting sort of way. He’d think about how you look in your black clothing. Clothing for a grieving widow. He’d picture your perfect mouth on his cock. He’d think about how you touched him without hesitation. About how your hips moved when you walked. He’d picture you naked and beneath him, the way you looked now. A perfect memory for him to summon up in the future.

“Why?”

You made a noise and moved behind him, to tackle that broad expanse of muscle across his back. The one that was so unfairly distracting. Even that friggin metal arm was doing it for you. How sick was that? You’d spent a good bit of time watching the plates move and shift. It was fascinating.

“Brock and I had an arrangement. He stayed in his room and I stayed in mine.”

Broad strokes.

That was what you gave him.

You left out the part where Brock had hit you. Once. He’d hit you just once.

You’d poisoned him the next night. Brock had been on the bathroom floor for two days. He had diarrhea and vomited all that time, curled up in a ball on floor, unable to eat anything for days.

You’d made your point.

He was in the guest bedroom as soon as he was off the floor and had his strength back. Never again did he hit you. He also made his own food, washed his own clothes and generally avoided you like the plague.

Never had you shared a shower with Brock. Forget your first husband. That was a level of intimacy you’d never experienced with either man. Period. 

Your bathroom was your space. You bedroom and home was yours, only yours. 

Perhaps it being just another way the first husband could hurt you. He’d tainted your view of sex. Your marriage to Brock had been slightly better. Your sexual relationship with Brock while brief, was always consensual. What more could you ask? Sure…it wasn’t very good. It was quick. He never hurt you. He used enough lube to make sure it wasn’t painful and he wore a condom. Up until you found out about the escort service from Lynette next door, Brock had been the best you ever had.

And now, here you were, with an ass you could bounce a quarter off and thighs that you couldn’t stop staring at, biceps that had so easily killed half a dozen men.

And you weren’t afraid. You weren’t worried that James would hurt you.

You weren’t afraid of him hurting you.

No matter what had been done to him, deep down, he was still Becca’s brother.

“Rumlow was an idiot,” came from James.

Making you laugh, a sharp burst of it came from you and you stopped in your scrubbing of his lower back. Because there was absolutely no way you were crouching down. Taking the risk of seeing what his dick looked like. That would have been so disrespectful to Rebecca. Plus, you didn’t want to know. You really did not want to know. Instead you would focus above the belt and reached for his flesh arm. “Peter said the same thing,” you laughed, earning yourself a surprised look from James. One that almost looked like he used to back in the day. Almost. This James was so much bigger, so quiet, intense and the whole trained assassin thing couldn’t be overlooked.

“The boy said that?”

The boy? That always made you laugh. Which you did as you gave a bicep nearly as big as your head a good rub down. “He’s hardly a boy. Have you seen him mowing the lawn without his shirt on? Lynette didn’t rear-end that UPS truck because she’s a hard-core lawn mower aficionado.”

James remembered. Steve had been particularly annoyed that afternoon.

Finding himself scowling at how you spoke about the young man, he luxuriated in how you cleaned his arm with soap that smelled like you. How you were careful around his bruises and scrapes. He noticed how you gently dabbed at his hand and with the utmost focus, cleaned his nails.

“Besides…” you murmured, your breasts touching his side as you held his hand under the shower spray, then lifted it back to your face to scrub at his knuckles again. “…you should be nice to Peter. You need five people to vouch for you to become a member of the resistance. You may need his good word, as, I don’t think you endeared yourself to Phil.”

He scowled.

“That is even if you stay.”

James looked to you with less scowl, more curiosity.

He felt the wetness of your warm skin against his, but your focus was solely on his hand. You dabbed the sponge over the back of his hand before holding it back under the water, as if it were your sole purpose on earth.

“Please…I grew up with brothers. A male of the species bucking at the bit to get out into the world, cause problems and generally raise hell is a familiar sight to me. Hardly original.” Upon determining his hand clean, you put the sponge in his hand and steered him out of the water. “Do your front. I need to rinse my hair.”

Your words, they made James eye you closely, and not just because when you slid under the water in front of him, he could see the swell of your hips, reminding him just how much he enjoyed the female form at one point. He most definitely noticed the elegant line of your spine.

That disconnect though, it wouldn’t allow him to do more than look.

Slowly, roughly, compared to the way you touched him, he scrubbed his chest and watched you rinse product from your hair. “What do you suggest?”

At first, he was unsure if you heard him. Your head was under falling water and all.

It seemed so though, as when you tilted your head forward, water spilling down the front of you, your voice filled the tiled space. “The head of our resistance here has shown an interest in you. Should you be serious about considering membership.” When you pushed your hair back to rinse at a different angle, you threw in, for good measure. “Just be sure, whatever you pick, you do so for the right reasons. I don’t need to be let down by yet one more person.”

***

James, as it turned out, was a big fan of breakfast.

He ate the plate you loaded with food like a famished man, while you sipped on your breakfast smoothie and checked emails.

You were more of a lunch person.

In a companionable sort of silence, the two of you sat at a small table in your kitchen. After he finished the second plate heaping with food that you served him, you went off to scrounge up some clothing for him to wear. Since what he had on was in a black hefty bag in your garage with yours, ready for ceremonial burning on the BBQ.

Your thoughts were already on the day ahead, while he seemed to be lost in a sea of his own.

It was the food. 

After some thought, James narrowed it down to the potatoes. Something so familiar about the crispy seasoned vegetables that with every bite, made him think about his family, his mother’s cooking, a much smaller Steve and his sister Rebecca. There was something about what you cooked that brought him back there. All your cooking actually.

So much so, when you dropped some clothing on the table, he was a little surprised to not have noticed you approach.

Completely off in your own world, you gestured vaguely at them. “They look like they’ll fit you. And you can just toss them once you get home. Unless you want to drive to Steve’s house in a towel.” 

A noise came from him.

It made you glance down at him. Seeing him with his wet hair tucked back behind his ears. Freshly cleaned and a healthy flush in his face from all the food he basically inhaled, a pang of nostalgia ripped through your heart like a fist through glass.

It was almost the man you remembered.

His profile was the same and it was James again, briefly. And it almost didn’t hurt to look at him.

Reaching up to adjust the towel wrapped around your head. You sighed and announced, “I’m going to go do my hair and makeup and get dressed. Did you need anything? I’ll be in there a while so if you’re good…make sure you lock the front door on your way out.”

And it was James again. It was Rebecca’s brother from that angle.

“I will,” was what he told you and when he glanced up to check the clock over on your stainless steel stove, you mistook the action.

He just…looked so much like Jimmy. 

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Lost in that moment of remembrance for too long.

The second you did it you, regretted it. Knowing you’d made a mistake and not just because his flesh hand shot up, grabbing the lapels of your silky black robe. Like a vice, his fingers would not release you. Being so close to his face, you could see just how intoxicatingly blue his eyes were. You could see the dark shadow of stubble on his face and the lines on his forehead, his strong nose, a dip in his chin.

His voice was steady. “Do that again.”

In response, your eyebrows went up and your palm fell on the table to steady yourself. His grip on you may have been like steel but you didn’t feel endangered. You felt…confused, like you had as a teenage girl. When butterflies filled your stomach, whenever you and Becca would watch the boys in the neighborhood play baseball in the streets.

Once more, gently, you leaned down to press your lips against the warm skin of his temple.

You noticed that he trembled when you did so.

And that led you to press your lips softly against the bridge of his nose.

He smelled like breakfast and your shampoo and the thought was so absurd. Never would you have ever imagined such a scene. Such specific and wild circumstances. You shifted on your bare feet at the weird angle you leaned down at, such action making James think you were going to stand and withdraw the touch, that precious contact.

A flesh hand pulled you even closer as his mouth opened, as his lips ghosted yours, his breath touching you. Waiting…waiting for you. Waiting for the smallest touch from you to lead him, assure him, light the match.

Oh so gently, your lips touched his in the faintest caress of a kiss.

You weren’t sure what he would do, if he would react.

James needed that. He needed that push, that nudge, that direction that spurred him to sink his teeth into your lip. Led him to inhaling the scent of you as his tongue slid over your top lip, as his mouth slanted over yours in a something akin to a kiss. Hungrier though, needier though, more demanding and encompassing. It took your breath away. And that was before he groaned against your mouth, “Touch me.”

You pressed your free palm over his heart.

“Touch me again,” he begged, eyes refusing to release contact.

Softly, your fingertips drug down around his side. Your palm coming to rest on his ribs as you kitten licked his mouth. Doing your very best to break his gaze, kill that hungry look in his eyes and having no luck.

Voice firm, he demanded of you, “More.”

Feeling a bit bolder yourself, your palm smoothed down over incredibly defined abdominals just above his navel. Each ridge of muscle firm yet soft. Such a strange dichotomy to you. In exploration, your thumb smoothed over each ripple of taut flesh.

“More.”

At that, you paused. If you went any lower you’d be going beneath the towel. Did you want to do that? Did you want to touch him? You did, you so badly did. You wanted it more than anything in that moment, based on his kiss alone. God could he kiss you.

But no.

You were not doing this again. You were not getting married again. You were not getting trapped again. You weren’t getting hurt again.

Quickly, you stood up before any more bad decisions could be made. Oddly, you were not experiencing any bad feelings. But you weren’t about to risk it. Stepping back, you took a deep shaky breath. 

“Forgive me, James. I shouldn’t have done that…”

Blue eyes blinked at you in surprise.

You’d stopped touching him. Why had you stopped touching him? His brain was having extreme difficulty understanding why. Why when it felt so wonderful? What had happened? Something had clearly happened.

“It was inappropriate of me and I apologize. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

A look of pure bewilderment crossed his features. Filling him quickly from top to bottom in confusion.

All he could smell and taste was you. It felt like his skin was on fire. 

Why on earth were you saying those things? What on earth had happened? Puzzled didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Wait…what…” was all James managed to get out. Right as you yanked him up to his feet by his flesh bicep, which just overfilled your hand so magnificently. It really was so unfair. 

Sputtering as you drug him out of your kitchen and through your house, towards the front door, you shook your head. “If you’re going to stay and be involved, we need to maintain a degree of professionalism. As Steve’s wife says, you don’t shit where you eat.” Was how you explained it as your head swam, as you began to panic. Which was weird, because every instinct in you was telling you that Becca’s brother wouldn’t hurt you, he could have been the evilest man on earth and he wouldn’t hurt you. 

Not that you would risk it. You had literally been given two second chances. Once when you died and once when Brock vanished off the face of the earth and was declared dead.

“…we didn’t do anything…” James managed as you drug him to your front door, which you unlocked with surprising speed, considering your arms were full of stuff and super soldier.

“Exactly,” you agreed, yanking open the front door to a bright morning, which you then shoved him out into. Not shockingly, right as Lynette came to a stop on the sidewalk in front of your house, in quite the styling atheleisure-wear apparel. Because, why not? Not that you had time to give the block’s thirst queen a second thought. “And we won’t. I am not going to take advantage of you James. I’m your friend.”

There, perfect. That was exactly why you also needed to keep your damn hands to yourself.

Lynette began to stretch.

Because why wouldn’t she?

You began to hand James his wallet and keys.

“But…” he began to protest, beginning to get a better grasp of how horribly his morning was going. “Steve’s my friend. I don’t need another friend. And you didn’t…aren’t taking advantage of me.”

Dear sweet Jesus, he had your good towel on too. The lovely periwinkle blue that just offset his golden skin. A nice thick extra-large towel that you may have spent too much on.

You weren’t risking losing that treasure.

Reaching out, you yanked that off him and paused for just a second so you could take in the bountiful glory that was a totally nude, muscular, James Buchanan Barnes. And he was packing. Because, why the fuck not? Because you clearly had not suffered enough.

Although she was only treated to the back view, Lynette gaped from down on the sidewalk. As it was quite an extraordinary view. You would know.

Quickly, you shoved Brock’s clothes into his hands so he could cover up as James grew indignant. “Wait just a moment…”

“James,” you raised your voice. “I thank you from the absolute bottom of my heart for last night. You saved my life and I will be eternally indebted to you. You will never know how much you saved me.” Then, because you were also an idiot, you leaned forward to give him a peck on the cheek. Because he did, he saved you, he did something to you that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Sensing what was about to happen again, he turned his head at that last second, catching your mouth. 

James Buchanan Barnes kissed you.

He stepped closer as you leaned out of your doorway in your robe, holding your towel, not caring. He leaned down a bit to kiss you better. Possessively he convinced your lips to part with his tongue, claiming your mouth for god and country. Pulling a soft groan from you and earning a suck on his lower lip from you, a caress of your tongue tentatively against his, even a little nibble from you.

And then you broke free and swore, told him to have a good morning, apologized for Steve’s truck and then slammed your front door, making damn sure to lock it behind you.

You would be swearing a lot that morning.

James however, stayed there for just a second.

He stared at your front door, hearing you swearing up a storm at yourself, mind racing. 

He licked his lips to savor the taste of you, before making some decisions on things that he needed to do. There was a lot that he needed to do. Things that had been up in the air and uncertain hours ago weren’t anymore. He knew exactly what he wanted and what he was going to do, and when Steve got home, he would be ready.

Having decided that, he smirked at your front door. He most definitely planned to return.

Then he turned on his heel.

Brock’s old clothing, his wallet and keys were the only thing covering his indecency as he caught sight of Lynette and Delores on the sidewalk. Both women waved with big smiles on their faces. 

“Good Morning Sergeant Barnes,” Delores purred, eyebrows raising knowingly.

Lynette was far more subtle. “Good morning James! Have you eaten breakfast yet? Lionel is away all week with Steve so I have extra and could use a hand around the kitchen, our table is wobbling. You look like you’re pretty good with your hands. Would you come over and take a peek?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Three months later…**

All your problems began on the night of your much-anticipated dick appointment.

Which was sort of ironic, considering most the major problems in your life were caused by an assortment of human beings possessing that particular sex organ.

Your first husband.

Your second husband.

And now, James Buchanan Barnes.

The amount of dick related problems you had to deal with in your life was horrific. Mostly considering how little dick you got. Especially, considering the quality of said dick you had received as well.

For the past two months, you’d been unable to have your usual appointment with the rugged south pacific islander, who your bestie Rebecca referred to as ‘King of all the Dick.’ Indeed, he was that good. 

Your time with Walter, no joke, was an all-night affair that took place at a hotel of your choosing, just as you preferred it.

First, after drinks and a brief catching up, Walter would give you a massage. A legitimate massage. Considering he was a masseur during the day. You paid extra for the full body treatment complete with hot stones, steaming towels and oils. Deep tissue magic was worked on you from head to toe and yes, Walter even gave you the mother of all foot-rubs.

Walter was worth every damn penny.

Once Walter was done turning your spine into a slinky, your evening moved into the bedroom. And to put it eloquently, the sexing was always magnificent. 

Considering how long you’d gone without your magical night with the seven-foot-tall possible Samoan, Tahitian or maybe Fijian, you made it very clear to Phil that you were not to be disturbed. You didn’t give a flying fudgsicle what happened, blood or fire or even explosions. You were not to be disturbed. You didn’t care if Johann Schmidt rose from the dead himself. 

It could wait.

Needless to say, when the door knocking began, you had no intention of answering it.

Nothing short of a roaring blaze would get you off Walter’s portable masseur table. A big fire too. The whole hotel had better of been on fire. You weren’t moving for anything short of a fully engulfed building. Not with the noises Walter was pulling from your lungs, as he massaged the deep tissue of your back into total and complete submission.

Walter really did have a gift from god.

Whether it was the Judeo-Christian God, the Hawaiian Gods or one from further south in the Pacific…you didn’t care. All you cared about was how a warm feeling of fuzzy goodness as good, if not better, then an orgasm, seeped through your stiff back. As Walter did something with his elbow that made your vertebrae pop…and then that magical feeling of wonder and glory.

A moan groan combo escaped from you, that had you not been blissed out of your gourd, you normally would have been a bit embarrassed by. 

Your arms hung limply over the table as your face rested in the head hole, giving you a glorious view of his tanned bare feet.

All as the knocking grew even more incessant, into pounding.

Yelling too.

Muffled yelling that you could have cared less about.

“Do you want me to see who’s at the door? Maybe there’s something going on?”

This idea was absolutely horrifying to you.

Something was going on. The deep tissue of your lower back was being shown who was boss by a two hundred and fifty pound Polynesian god. You did not give two shits who was at your hotel room door. Thus leading you to lift up your head to take stock of the situation. “What? No! Who cares?”

Walter, with his upper body covered with glorious tribal ink, long dreads pulled up, a thick beard and tight black pants gave you an amused look. “I think that whoever it is isn’t going to go away.”

And, as you thought about it with the good happy feelings still swirling around, you began to suspect that perhaps he was correct. Which led you to shoving your curtain of hair from your face. Horror, just utter horror came over you.

Of all the days for you to leave your gun at home.

Placing a gentle hand between your shoulders, Walter’s green eyes glittered down at you. “Tell you what. I’ll add on a little something extra when I do the hot stones. Sound good?”

A little something extra?

Well, that didn’t sound horrible.

Still though, you made sure to pout because this was your special night. One that you cleared your calendar for, your night that everyone knew not to bother you on. Maybe they didn’t all know the significance, or the reasoning, but everyone knew that you were not to be bothered on this of all nights.

“Relax, calm your mind,” Walter smiled. “Lay your head back down. Close your eyes. This will take only a moment and then I’ll be back. Don’t let the negativity ruin our time together.”

Negative vibes, right.

You couldn’t let those ruin your night.

In an act of outrage that would have made any teenager in America proud, you huffed then dropped your face back down in the cushioned hole. Rewarded with Walter’s soft laughter and the sounds of his walking through the hotel room. You closed your eyes and did your best to relax, unwind, not listen to whatever was going on around the corner and just out of view.

You really needed this.

Like, really really needed this.

Over the past three months, you’d been climbing the walls for the first time ever in your unnatural life. Your best friend Rebecca found it hysterical. She had been harping on you to set up more dick appointments than your usual two, or the rarer four, a month.

Her brother, was quite frankly, making you crazy.

Never before had you ever looked at James Bucky Barnes and thought… _I’d like to sit on his face_ …however lately, it was something you considered at length. What would his stubble covered cheeks feel like against your thighs? Would he grip your thighs and focus solely on your clit? Would he finger you? Or, would he just make a mess of things down there? You found yourself clenching your thighs at that mental image.

Over the past few months, he’d gone through the lengthy process to become a resistance member, which was proving more difficult than becoming Captain Hydra. After the passing of Director Pierce last week, it’d been decided that Steve Rogers would be the new Director of Hydra for the North American Region. Someone had to be the new Captain Hydra. Why not the decorated Winter Soldier?

You’d found yourself with James when at Hydra events.

It was easy enough, you were the widow of the Hydra Hero Brock Rumlow and James was the Winter Soldier, a hero in his own right. Steve had spent a considerable amount of time bringing the Winter Soldier into the daylight and making him a hero so James could live a real life. A real life as Captain Hydra, but still, it was a life.

Weird…

You could have sworn you heard him shouting.

Now you were hearing Becca’s brother on your night with Walter. 

You REALLY needed a good thorough dicking to clear your head, get your mind out of the gutter. You’d been making mistakes that week and couldn’t afford to make any more. Something had to be done. You’d made it very clear to James that you weren’t interested in anything more than friendship. You yourself didn’t want a boyfriend, or a husband and hadn’t kissed James in days, possibly a week. So you really needed to get your head on straight. If Phil ever quit protesting James’s entrance into the resistance, then you’d really have to put your foot down and stop running your hand up and down his lush thighs beneath tables at Hydra Dinners. You really needed to stop him from brushing against your breasts, or bottom. And that was why you needed to get this out of your system. You couldn’t be leading James on any more.

It was very close to happening again.

You were coming very close to that point of no return, where lines were blurring, things were starting to venture out of the platonic bubble. You were nearing very near that place, the one where things crashed and burned and that would not happen with James.

You were going to get a handle on this. You were going to ride Walter’s magnificent dick. And you were going to do so, till you could think about James, without wondering what that metal hand would feel like on your naked body.

Ok…you lifted your head.

That was definitely James.

Pushing your hair back from where it’d curtained forward. You were greeted to the sight of Walter jumping backwards into the spacious suite. You were greeted to the sight of James Buchanan Barnes storming into the room, fit to be tied.

Blue eyes full of fire. Pieces of his dark hair escaped from the hair tie at the nape of his neck. The sight of you nude on a table, except for a white towel over your posterior and hips, made his hands fist. “Tell me the boy is wrong!” He demanded of you, as you stared and Walter looked at you for input on what to do. “Tell me you are not paying for it!”

The boy? Peter.

Peter who was supposed to be housesitting for you.

Well wasn’t that just perfect?

Gaping, you quickly scrambled from the table, hiking the towel up, mind racing to try and figure out how to calm James down before the whole situation got out of control. Somehow, unable to tie the towel up above your breast, you wound up gripping it. “James…James…Jimmy…hey hey hey…” 

“Is it,” he demanded to know, eyes flickering over at Walter before returning to you. “Don’t tell me it is. I will break him in half!”

Walter’s eyebrows rose.

You shooed your masseur with a gesture of your hand as you grabbed for the older brother of your best friend. Who, in all honesty, didn’t look too much older than you. The universe clearly having taken a personal interest in him too, although, seeming to be equally creative with his life as it had yours.

“James! You need to calm down!”

Seeing movement, he looked at Walter. Walter who backed out of the room at the sight of the Hydra Soldier, wearing a dress uniform covered with ribbons and pins, in black with red accents, knee high leather black boots. His face had been everywhere over the past few months. It would have been odd if Walter hadn’t recognized the new posterchild for Hydra.

Looking right at you, blue gaze spearing you in place. Your name fell off his lips.

When the door to your room slammed shut in Walter’s hasty wake, you flinched.

Again, he said your name, but lower.

Your heart began to pound so hard in your chest, you swore you could feel it. One hand went up to push hair from your face. The hand not holding your towel anyway. He was making you frenzied and nervous. You didn’t want to hurt him, but it was clear by his state and reaction, he was hurt. You didn’t want to tell him the truth, tell him how you weren’t whole anymore. You didn’t want him to look at you with that look the other few guys had who you tried to date. _The_ look, a look as if they were trying to find that exact part of you that was no longer like other women. Or worse, pity.

“What are you doing here,” was the best you could do.

He reared back as if you’d hit him.

“You’re supposed to be out at the Hydra Dine In,” you reminded him. Just in case he forgot or something.

“Was he a male prostitute?” He threw right back at you, tone going lower as he grew more incensed.

Ok, clearly distraction wasn’t going to work.

You might actually have to tell the truth, as horrifying as that prospect was.

“How often are you paying him for sex? Is this what you do? You have sex with male prostitutes? How long have you been doing this? Were you doing this while you were married?”

And you were definitely going to need to be dressed to be having this conversation.

Where the hell were your clothes?

Right, the bedroom.

Which led your hand to shoot up, mere inches from his face, as you turned and then headed that way.

Leave it to James to want the one woman who apparently had her own personal male sex toy.

It’d taken him nearly five whole minutes to get it out of Peter. Red faced, stuttering Peter, who’d been studying when he’d asked where you were, when he’d gotten to your house that evening. Peter had spilled his water all over your coffee table while looking everywhere but at him.

Your palm up to his face was even more infuriating than the boy.

Still, he was not done. He was not near done. He knew for a fact that this was not normal behavior from modern women. He’d even asked a wildly uncomfortable Peter on his way out of your house.

Following you into a very nice bedroom, he didn’t give you a second to shut the door.

James slipped in and wanted to know. “Did you have sex with him tonight? Is that why you won’t have sex with me? You’re having some kind of relationship with your male prostitute? If you just want sex, you could have asked me. I wouldn’t charge you.” And before he could start asking how much you knew about that man, you spun around and reached up to cover his mouth with your hand.

“Oh dear god James! You have to stop asking questions!” Your voice sounding very close to how you sounded when you were about ready to start yelling. “I’m having sex with him because I can’t have sex normally with guys. I’ve tried! I really have and that’s why I’m not having sex with you. Ok? It just…doesn’t work out for me. Ok? Trust me when I say, it is me. It’s all me.”

Even though he’d been frozen on and off for the past few decades and was still getting the hang of modern life, James knew women and he could read body language. 

You may have just been in a towel and ready to pop his head off. But you were very close to telling him something very important.

He could feel it, see it, sense it.

So he pressed on, “Why? Why him and not me?”

Forgetting about the door and whatever you’d come into the bedroom for, he waited and watched you, crowded you, got well into your space till you had no other option other than to throw your hand not holding up your towel in the air. “Because I pay him! He does what I ask, how I ask, when I ask. He does what I need him to without judging me. Ok? There are specific things that need to happen, for me to feel comfortable enough and safe enough to have sex, and he knows what I need. That’s it. It’s nothing else.”

Not that he believed you for a second. But James also knew based solely on how you looked anywhere but him, how your voice changed and how your face burnt with shame, that something bad had happened to you. 

He was something of an expert on that matter.

So he knew better than to reach out for you. He knew if he wanted to ask you more questions, he couldn’t touch you. 

He didn’t move either, out of concern that the slightest move would change the whole chemistry of the room and you’d close down again.

“Why? What do you need him to do? I’d do it. I’d do whatever you asked me to.”

Your eyes went further down, somewhere around the floor.

“Someone hurt you? Was it Brock?”

Further down your gaze travelled. 

But, you shook your head. “No…it was before him. It was a long time ago.”

However long ago it had been, you were still bothered by it. Obviously. Hence the male who’d fled and the fact you weren’t looking him in the eye. Which led James to really wish he had changed into something less Hydra-y. 

Not that he could change that. But, he could try and make you more comfortable and since he had nothing but time for the rest of the night, he stepped over to the end of the bed and plopped down. “What is it that you need?”

Surprised, your eyes darted over to his.

Your reaction didn’t surprise him. Let him down perhaps, but he wasn’t totally surprised. If a male you’d previously dated had asked such an outrageous question, you probably wouldn’t have been hiring a one for sex. Not that you’d ever be hiring anyone else.

Your voice was soft when you whispered his name pleadingly in response.

“Tell me,” he went on, leaned back on his metal and flesh hands.

How much you wanted to tell him.

How badly you wanted to plop down beside him and tell him everything.

Telling him everything would expose a part of yourself, make yourself vulnerable. If you told him you risked everything. You risked him deciding that it was too much, that you were simply not worth all this fuss. You risked him giving you those looks and he was someone that you saw frequently, daily. Did you want to risk James throwing you aside? He of all people deserved some normalcy.

After everything Hydra had done to him, he sat on the edge of the hotel bed with luxurious white sheets in a fancy dress uniform, showing off a broad chest of medals and ribbons Steve made sure he was given, proving his service.

Steve had said, if anything happened to him, he wanted to make sure Bucky was taken care of and recognized for his service. He could at least make sure Bucky was in a good position, should the worst happen to him. As Captain Hydra, Bucky had a step up above so many others.

“Please,” James pressed.

Please.

He’d said please.

You couldn’t remember the last time a man had said _please_ to you, if it had ever happened.

_Please._

Looking down again, your eyes roamed over his black steel toed boots. Along the black slacks with a red stripe up the side of his legs. Till your eyes found his shiny metal hand. 

“I need…” you began, then paused, watching his metal fingers with utmost fascination. “I can’t just…have relations. I enjoy sex. I do. I just need to be warned, I need to know that it is going to happen.”

Which was why the nights with Walter worked. You could anticipate it. It was not something forced upon you, out of your control.

“What else?”

Not a hint of disgust or shock tinged James’s voice.

Your eyes risked upwards to see nothing but openness, compassion and possibly even understanding. Slowly, one step at a time, you stepped closer to the bed. Sitting down beside him, but not near enough to touch.

Though your mouth opened, it was a moment or two before words came out. “For the act…I need to be on top. For the first few times, I mean.”

Saying those words out loud sent your eyes back down. Afraid of his reaction, what he would say.

“What do you have Walter do?”

Up your head snapped.

He was serious. He was dead stone cold serious.

“I could do what you have Walter do…”

In surprise your mouth opened. 

“I want to do what you have Walter do.”

A protest was what you wanted to launch, but you had no idea what to say. You wanted him to do what Walter did, but you didn’t want to lose what you had with him. You didn’t want him to be disgusted with you. You didn’t want him to be bored or get tired of you. Walter was paid. James wouldn’t stay around with the restraints you put on sex. No one ever did.

“Don’t look at me like that…” James gently pressed you. “I want to make you feel good. That’s all I want to do. Tell me what you like.”

Honestly, you didn’t know what to do. You had no idea what to say. Your fingers were starting to ache from how tight you squeezed your white towel. 

No one had ever had this reaction when you had ‘the talk.’

Which was quite clear to him.

Now James Buchanan Barnes could not quite describe it. But you were going to be his and that was all there was to it. You weren’t a shining beacon of pure Hydra womanhood and that was fine with him, he wasn’t exactly what he was parading around pretending to be either. Like Steve, you were one of the few who could truly understand him. The boy was fine and all, and Steve’s wife was a little pistol but he wasn’t in any way shape or form in the mood to deal with all of that. And then there was you. A gift in black widow’s garb, with so much beneath that wrapping that only he would be uncovering, bit by bit.

He saw the second you were bending. 

Like a target falling beneath his skill, you worried your lower lip with your teeth. Softly you told him without looking at him. Using words that were so detached he knew you were trying to regain some of the control you were giving up so beautifully. “He…he um, he performs oral sex on me.”

And he would let you.

James would give you that to hold onto.

Rising up to his boots, he stood and took two steps to you, standing between your thighs but not touching you. No. Not yet. 

“How do you like to be eaten out? Do you like to be on your back doll? Do you want to be on your hands and knees? Do you want to be sitting? Hmmm?”

How he savored your flash of surprise at that question. 

James was very much going to enjoy partaking with you in carnal delights of the flesh.

James was very much going to relish seeing the look on your face, when you realized just how good he was going to make you feel.

There was something in you that just pulled him in, like a magnet. It was a dark pull. An allure. Some sort of likeness he couldn’t describe, that no one else around seemed to possess, that could even spark an interest in him.

Molten swirling darkness stirred deep within when you pushed yourself back on the bed, hand still so tight on your towel. And only when you’d wiggled up till your head rested on a pillow, did you finally look at him. No words fell from your lips. No words were needed. Your face was full of fear and unease and hope and need and desire and when you took a breath, it was released in trembling shakes.

His girl was so brave, so good.

He was going to reward his best girl for this, for what she was giving him.

Little did you know, you would be rewarded for this most precious gift you were sharing. He would see to it. One knee at a time, James climbed and walked up the bed to near your knees and he was prepared lie down on his stomach, to rip you apart with his mouth in that towel.

However, you surprised him, by opening up your towel with hands that shook and he froze.

James went rigid, figuratively and literally.

On your chest were pale white scars. Scars from stab wounds. Several of which should have been killing wounds. Although somehow they were not, as you were alive right before him on the expansive bed.

“Doll…” he breathed out in understanding. “No one’s gonna hurt you again. No one’s gonna put their hands on you. No one. Only me.”

You couldn’t speak. You wouldn’t even hope.

All you could really do was nod.

Which sent him down onto his front, on his elbows, fully dressed and when you felt his hot breath blow over the inside of your thighs, you shook, you gasped. You almost broke when James licked the inside of your thigh. Your body grew tight when fresh and metal fingers gently pushed your smooth lips open. 

“Did you do this for him? Or do you do this all the time?”

You knew what he meant and could barely breathe. 

Everything had been waxed beneath the belt in anticipation of your night. 

Now your body shook with that anticipation. Even more anticipation possibly, because it was James. “Me…I like…I like…I like how it feels.”

And then James set his mouth on you. Your body arched back against the bed in your reaction. You closed your eyes and breathed through his mouth closing over you. Breathed through his tongue playing with your clit and the humming noise he made when he licked you with the flat of his tongue, up and down the length of your pussy. Smearing your growing arousal around.

His rough cheeks and chin slipped over your bare lips, smeared with your arousal and that tongue of his, so wicked.

Never moving when you climaxed against his face, crying out and trembling in surprise, shock. You were coming. You were coming so quickly, so fast, you never had a chance to be properly surprised. Not as your body went taut. Not even when James continued to draw your clit in his mouth, between his slippery lips. 

Your sudden orgasm made his chest swell.

“Can you…” you began, chest heaving, body tingling, toes curled as you fought to find your voice. “…touch me, stroke inside of me.”

Pleased with your request, he moaned softly against your pussy, kitten licking your clit even more. Yeah, he could do that, he’d take pleasure in doing that. Licking as he brought his metal hand up and stroked your flushed lips, swollen red from his ministrations.

Taking as much pleasure in what he was doing as you were getting, he pushed a metal finger into your slit, enjoying the sight of his work. A soft wet noise came when he penetrated you with his digit. A whimper came from you, leading James to stroke the walls of your cunt with his metal index finger. Caressing you, stimulating you, finding that rough stretch of flesh deep within. With just a curl of his finger…he sent your hands into the pillows.

“Oh…ohhh Ja…James…”

A second metal finger slid into you with a wet noise that he savored. Almost as much as he loved hearing his name, broken on your lips, as you came a second time, your orgasms piggy-backing on the other.

James wasn’t going to pretend that seeing you bare hadn’t been a shock. You had a pretty pussy. And upon further inspection down there, he noticed there were a couple freckles on your mound that normally would have been covered by dark pubic hair. 

Licking your juicy lips though, sucking them into his mouth as you writhed around in oral rapture, well that was just a brand new source of enjoyment for him.

It was then he decided, he was going to make you come again.

“You know doll…this bare pussy of yours is growing on me.” And it was, he especially was going to enjoy seeing what it looked like stuffed with his cock. Covered with his cum. Maybe not that night. He’d see. He could wait. He wouldn’t push you. He’d make sure that when he was done fucking you with his tongue, you were going to be wanting more in this hotel room bed.

***

And it was true.

You found yourself wondering, curious.

You almost asked. 

You almost did.

You came so close after pulling up the white sheets over your body, gasping, sweating, twitching and tingling as James plopped down on the pillows beside you. Pleased with himself, if his shit-eating smirk that reminded you so much of Rebecca’s carefree brother as he wiped his face clean of you with the blanket, was any indication.

You were about to ask.

Your vagina had never been so wet, so tingly and was still giving you little clenches as it begged you for more.

“So what’s with the hostage situation in your house?”

Was it even possible to be dick drunk without having had dick?

You barely were understanding what the fully dressed and still uniformed Captain Hydra was saying beside you. For Christ’s sake, he still had on those dress boots. “Huh?”

Shifting beside you on the bed, James pulled his hair free from the hair tie and had just come to accept he was going to smell like your delicious pussy, until he took a shower. “When I went to your house, I could hear the muffled shouting from downstairs.”

Oh, right, your hostage.

Eyes widening, you shifted beneath the soft blanket.

“Not that I care,” he went on, wiggling himself into a comfortable position and slipping hands beneath the pillow he had his head on. Only then did James glance over at you, his absolutely sinful mouth red, flushed, a bit swollen from what he’d been doing to you. “In fact, I salute you. Kidnapping Justin Hammer. Taking him home. Binding and gagging him down in your laundry room. Leaving Peter in charge was a bit much. But if it’s your first kidnapping, I’m willing to let that slide.”

Warily, you eyed him.

News of Justin Hammer’s Disappearance had been all over that week. Hydra’s number one weapons supplier, vanishing from his hotel room, was not something that would go unnoticed.

Quietly, though unremorseful, you confessed. “Last week I went out with him. Phil wanted me to get information from him. But I didn’t want to have sex with him. So…”

Supportive, Bucky nodded in understanding. “I wouldn’t want to have sex with him either.”

You tried hard not to laugh, and smoothed your hands over the blanket that covered up your modesty. You really didn’t want to have sex with Hammer. But now you had no idea what to do with the man to get information. 

It had been something of an oopsie.

You’d said as much, as you stared down at the black boots on top of the blankets.

For a few moments James was quiet, thoughtful even.

Finally, when he spoke, he glanced over at you. “Can you get your hands on some acid?”

Perplexed, you cocked your head at him. “Acid like trippy hippie acid? Or acid, like to pour on a dead body acid?”

That you would even ask such a question, with that serious look on your face. 

It filled James with a warm and fuzzy feeling deep down. He leaned over, his nose brushing yours, knowing that you could smell yourself on his face, in his loose hair. “The kind that will make him hallucinate. We’ll take him somewhere else and pump him full of enough acid to make him paranoid and terrified of Hydra. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll come to us with open arms begging to hand over weapons.”

Licking your lips, you considered that plan and were a bit bummed you hadn’t thought of it yourself. It would be the perfect way to get the information and not have to listen to Phil bitch when Hammer’s body would be found, which was the end result of your plan.

But oh, an idea came forth as James’s mouth just brushed against the swell of your bottom lip. 

“Downstairs…I have some old broken Hydra trackers and bugs that I use to freak out the neighbors. We could stick them on his clothes. Maybe cut his arm and back and put them in, stitch him up. That might help convince Justin.”

More pleased at your dark and devious idea. His lips curled wickedly. Yeah, you were definitely the dame for him. Leading him to press a lingering kiss against the corner of your mouth.

“Are you…do you have an erection?”

Did he have an erection?

Snorting a laugh, the tip of his tongue touched his upper lip. He was going to be hard till he got back to Steve’s house and jerked off in the shower. For the better part of an hour at this rate. James couldn’t ever remember being so fucking hard in his life. “Yeah,” he softly answered, “I have an erection. But you don’t have to worry. We’re not doing anything until you’re ready.” James was a lot of things but he wasn’t a rapist. He was a killer, an animal, wanted, an assassin, a gunman and could gut a man with a knife in seconds. He wouldn’t touch you until you were ready though.

A soft breath came from you. “Ummm…I was…expecting, anticipating…sex with Walter tonight. But now that’s not going to happen.”

“No,” he agreed, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “That’s not going to happen.”

A deep breath was pushed from you, as you worked your way to something. Words jumbling together in your nervousness. “Soifyouwantandareablewecouldyouknowhavesex.”

Leaning even closer, James kissed your bottom lip chastely. “Do you want to? You want to climb up on me and take my cock tonight?”

No words came out.

You nodded your head that you did.

“Undress me then kitten. Put me where you want me and tell me what makes you feel good.”

A shaky exhale burst from your chest.

You scooted closer and curled onto your side, reaching over to touch his dress jacket. Fingers running over the thick fabric and finding big round gold buttons with the Hydra octopus on them. One by one, button by button, you undid each of them, starting at the bottom and working your way up to his throat. Until a white undershirt peeked through.

After he shook out of the top and flung his undershirt to the floor, you curled up against the warm muscular flesh of his side. Your eyes roving over the muscle and his skin. Your palms smoothed over him appraisingly and he let you, in no hurry. Enjoying your touching him just as much as you enjoyed your exploration.

Familiar with his dress uniform, you were able to unbuckle the belt and have his pants open fairly quickly.

It was when you saw the bulge in his black boxer briefs, that you felt a degree of urgency.

No longer caring about his pants or belt or boots or briefs.

Rising up onto your knees, you pushed the elastic band of his undergarments down. Exposing an erection that was absolutely terrifying and breathtaking and astounding. It sprang up from its cotton confines. Thick, velvety soft with pre-cum smeared over the wide tip. James was the biggest you’d ever held in your hands and seeing that genuine reaction on your face, it filled him with masculine pleasure.

“Don’t you worry doll. We’ll go slow until it feels good, until you’re begging for more and more. That’ll be the only cock that you take up in your beautiful little cunt from here on out. Get a good feel. Touch it long as you need. It won’t ever hurt you.”

Your grip was gentle and your actions tentative, as you handled him and he watched you do so, closely, patiently. Knowing that you were going to be his when the two of you left the hotel room. You would be his carnally. You would be his when the two of you had to attend Hydra functions. You would be his when you both met up with the resistance. You would be his when you helped him break Justin Hammer. You were going to be his, because, he simply wanted you.

A heavy exhale came from you and when you pushed the foreskin back to the base of him, you caught a sliver of his heavy sac in the confines of his pants.

Tentatively, looking to him, you reached into the fabric of his pants to touch him. To brush your fingertips over the firm round globes resting beneath his shaft. Palming them and rolling the two twin parts of him in your hand. “Can you come in me? I’m on birth control and clean.”

That you would even ask was laughable.

James wasn’t planning on wearing a condom with you. He couldn’t get sick with the serum in his veins and he’d seen your contraceptive pills in your bathroom. He’d planned on filling you so full of his jizz, it would drip out of you till morning. He had every intention of branding you as his with the most primal part of him. “Yeah…” he nodded, pleased. “I’ll come in you as many times as you want.”

That you asked surprised you.

You were adamant that Walter wear a condom. Brock and the guy who’d you dated briefly after Brock vanished also wore condoms.

For some unknown reason, you didn’t want that barrier. You wanted to feel James. You wanted to know that nothing was between you two and that he would be covered with your arousal, you wanted to know that when he had an orgasm, his semen would be in you. The idea made your chest twist and you grew wetter between your thighs.

You needed to get him inside of you.

Which found you climbing up to your knees and dropping the blanket, slipping your leg over his so you could straddle his lap and rest a hand on his bare broad shoulder. A metal hand and a flesh hand fell on your hips.

“Slow doll…go slow…” he encouraged, pressing his lips softly to your forehead.

Go slow.

There was no other way to take him. Even as wet as you were, when you took a hold of him your fingertips didn’t meet on other side. Lining him up took a second. You half expected him to just slam it in…but he didn’t, he let you press down, break through the threshold into your body. 

“Touch yourself kitten. Play with your clit. I’m in and it ain’t popping out.”

You laughed with a gasp from the breath you’d been holding, as you took him. Because damn, was he big. You panted and closed your eyes as the tip of him speared up into you like an arrow, splitting you open with that mushroom head. Your body stretched around the sheer size of him almost painfully. It burnt. It was uncomfortable and the further you sank down on James’s erection, the sharper it felt, as your body stretched around him. Hot wetness began to burn in your eyes.

His metal hand took your smaller one off his cock, lifting it up to your clit. Stroking your clit. Rubbing your clit. Making that sharpness not dull, but, tending the fire of your pleasure, making your body clench gently at first.

Dipping his head, he took one lush puffy nipple in his mouth. Making you gasp. Making you sink a bit more down on his throbbing cock.

You were so goddamn tight. Your walls both stretched tightly around him to accommodate him, your walls also squeezed tightly, as you both rubbed your clit. Wet arousal ran down his erection from you, pooling on his pelvis and further down over his balls.

It felt like forever, but, you eventually took him. Eventually you took all of him.

You were breathing deeply. Both your flesh and his metal fingers furiously rubbed your clit. You found yourself pushing your chest against his mouth further, as that skilled tongue of his played with your nipple in a manner that was just depraved.

When you finally were seated on his pelvis, you keened out in relief. Because you didn’t think you’d ever take the entirety of him. 

Lifting his face from your nipple, a string of saliva trailed behind, connecting him to you, making an animal-like whine come from you. You felt out of control and wild as his eyes connected with yours. As he drew his tongue over your breast, not breaking that contact, you felt your walls contract in response.

“My good girl…taking all of me. Stay just like that kitten. Let me make you feel good. I’ll give it all to you.”

To be frank, you weren’t sure if you could move. You were stuffed so full you couldn’t move. You could barely breathe. You were stretched so far to your limit, you felt a burn and an ache and a hunger growing.

And there you were, like a feast laid out for him. Spread out on his cock. Whining as he pushed you up and up and up, winding you tighter and tighter with his metal fingers and your own, playing with the little pearl of nerves between your pussy lips. Taking your other soft nipple between his wet lips and suckling, nibbling, rubbing with his tongue. An offering just for him.

Rawness was obvious in your eyes. A hunger, a desperation, a fear and desire. You were on that line and could tip over either way. Over to incredible pleasure or absolute pain. The trust that you put in him was a salve to his burning. 

Both of your shaking hands smoothed up his chest to grip his shoulders. Fingertips dug into firm skin and unyielding metal.

Your words were quiet, but you could have screamed them at him for the reaction that followed. “Please don’t hurt me.” You could have slapped him and it would have been less painful.

No words could have conveyed how you made him feel, how much he wanted you and just how he intended to treasure the only thing he’d coveted in decades. So he didn’t say anything. Instead he kissed you. He kissed you like he did that morning three months ago. He took your mouth in his. James sank his teeth into your bottom lip, curled his tongue against yours. Stroking your clit still as he did so, in time with his kiss. Metal fingers applied the perfect bit of pressure, the sensors within sparking in his body like real nerves connected to his sensory system.

With that metal wrist against your mound, he could feel how deeply he filled you. Your cunt stretched like a delicious hot vice around his member. But his metal arm, his metal hand…he could feel how taut your mound was, how flexed the muscles and tendons in your thighs and pelvis were, how the soft lips and flesh of your smooth pussy was now distended from being filled with him.

Fuck if that didn’t give him a dark sense of pleasure.

Slowly, so slowly, he began to sway with you seated on him. His mouth claiming, flesh hand finding purchase on the small of your back to remind you he had you and wouldn’t let you fall.

So what if he couldn’t fuck you in every position known to man on a whim, like Steve and his little Mrs? There was something almost perverse about unpacking you. Wooing you. Finding a way with all the rules and restrictions and guidelines. A lesser man would have found it tedious. A less patient man would have been frustrated. An inferior man would have decided that it was too hard. James was none of those things. James was a man who was developing a fine palate as he continued to adapt to his new world.

Again, to his delight, you came with a cry, a real broken noise that was closer to pain than pleasure, as your body clenched excruciatingly around his girth. Being unfrozen always hurt. It always was painful to be reborn. Your center wept your release on his metal hand as you panted into his mouth.

James nuzzled his face against yours. He softly kissed your lips and rubbed his tongue over yours as he began to shift his hips. The movement starting slowly, gently, smooth sensations gentled by arousal and lubrication. It was warm and soft, wet and perverse, a sensation of overwhelming carnality that found James climaxing himself. An uncurling deep within his groin that was more cathartic than explosive. A further unwinding of himself as he built up towards that explosive end. A release of his own inside of you, furthering the both of your appetites was so rewarding. It would coat your vaginal walls. It would smear out on both his and your thighs. It would mix with yours into a sticky mess that covered your pelvises, his pubic hair and your smooth skin, in evidence of your deed.

Soon your body began to move more, lift itself in an attempt to seek friction, as his cock wedged so deeply within grew comfortable, began to stimulate untouched parts of you. Each rise and fall on him was glorious agony. Stimulating his erection, squeezing his shaft and rubbing his crown which never left your slippery cunt.

More and more your combined hungers grew, your bodies fed off one another as you began to grow acquainted with what the other needed.

James, you found, needed to be touched and caressed and stroked, petted, rubbed and wanted contact everywhere. His body needed to be fed by yours, with yours, only yours. He needed to lick the damp salt from your skin. He needed to be fed from you in intimate ways that made your core clench and throb and grow even wetter.

James found that you wanted his hands and mouth and tongue everywhere, you longed for it all, you craved everything, you wanted everything he could give you. But, you couldn’t take it all, you were a small recovering thing that could only take so much without breaking. Like a starving creature desperately wanting food, but only being able to take a little at a time, or becoming overwhelmed as a result.

Hunger and need grew, it rose. Till you rocked on his shaft in desperate need, noises escaping from you were pitched and drowned out the sloppy wet ones that came from your joining. Trembling hands clung to his expansive shoulders. Your breasts drug up and down his sweaty chest, nipples little points that pushed into him so perfectly. Sweat beaded down your back. It dampened your hair and his, collected between your foreheads where they pressed together and along your bodies. 

All you could think about was how wet everything felt. How slippery he was beneath you. How wet your mouths were in the sloppy kisses you managed, that were more tongue and lips touching and rubbing than any real skilled effort.

Both of you completely having devolved into that mindless seeking of rapture by the time you came, or was it James? You could not have determined which one of you climaxed first and brought the other over too, if your life depended on it. All you knew was it made you curl into yourself like a creature in the forest. Consumed with velvety darkness rubbing over your soul, as your walls spasmed brutally around his manhood, greedily taking your pleasure. As if in fear you’d never again feel such wonder.

Flames licked at James, seizing him, burning and destroying to make him new as his body constricted beneath yours. Hips powering up into you. Balls tightening in their discharge.

And for a bit, he lost himself, furiously unleashing his self in a burst of frantic fucking up into you, as your walls gripped him. That heat consuming as he brought you more pleasure, as he expunged it all in that effort. James grunted, wrapped his flesh arm around your bare back and held you flush against him. 

His hips pushed up into you. Your body curled against him and the feeling of rightness, or completion, it engulfed him. He emptied himself until there was nothing else left. It felt like he came forever, the drawing up sensation as he finally let himself go in your arms. You holding him as much as he held onto you.

Till you were nothing but two sweaty bodies, panting, leaning back against the headboard and joined intimately in a pulsing flushed mess of parts.

***

**Later that morning…**

“I had sex with your brother.”

Rebecca cackled, cackled loudly and from deep down in her toes, nearly spilling her Bloody Mary as you plopped down on the wicker chair across from her, attempting to be ashamed. However, all could really manage was slight irritation. Frowning, you picked at your colorful flowing robe that billowed about.

What could you say?

It had been good. Beyond good. Great. The best you ever had or could think possible.

You’d only just got home and had come through your back yard, through the gate on the fence separating your yard from Rebecca’s. Her house was directly behind yours and then through the vast garden of her backyard, to her outside patio and lanai.

Every morning you had breakfast together and sometimes lunch, usually always dinner.

Her cackling turned into laughter as she set her drink down, so as not to spill it in her mirth and purple jogging suit. White hair braided in a crown around her head. Blue eyes still sharp, glittering.

“Oh that is hysterical,” Rebecca giggled, wiping the tears from her eyes as you scowled and made yourself comfortable in your designated chair, with your extra cushion and your usual breakfast smoothie on the table waiting.

Sitting down, surrounded by flowers and bird feeders and windchimes, you could feel the tenderness deep within you. You were going to be feeling it all day. You even had to slap on a pantyliner after your shower, before traversing the backyards, because you were still getting wet just thinking about him.

“And what did Walter have to say about my brother the super soldier?”

A palm covered your face at the memory.

Giggles, fucking giggles came across the table.

You’d tell her. You told Rebecca everything.

Well, not the parts about her brother, but the other parts. That would have just been weird.

Sighing deeply and feeling how wonderfully sensitive your breasts were in the cushy padding of your bra. You leaned back in your chair and observed your coconut chocolate breakfast drink of wonder. “He showed up about a quarter of the way into my massage. Threw a fit. Walter fled…”

Laughter, deep throaty laughter came from the elderly woman. It made you roll your eyes and a little smirk threaten.

“…so your brother then stayed and I think, there is a chance, I might be in some type of a relationship with him.”

A snort came from Becca that made you reach for your breakfast.

Rebecca, with a gnarled arthritic hand, reached over to swirl her breakfast with the stalk of celery in it. “And what of dear Walter?”

Oh Walter.

You were going to miss Walter.

Rebecca Barnes Proctor, head of the resistance, had a thrice weekly massage from the islander to help keep her limber and active. Yoga and meditation and vodka helped with the rest. She watched you pop the top of the shaker drink and sip, before rolling your eyes and looking over at one of her bird baths.

“Luckily he had the other room key. So when we left at like…three in the morning, I texted him so he could get his table and stuff. I left a tip that I hope smooths things over.”

Carefully, Rebecca reached for her drink and took a little sip before she added supportively. “Jimmy’s always been somethin of a little scamp.”

Yeah, you agreed, nodding, that was a polite way to put it.

Pondering pondersomly, Rebecca looked back your way. “How’d he find you?”

“Peter,” you mumbled as you sipped.

With a nod and snap of her fingers at the information, Rebecca reclined in her own wicker chair, enjoying the soft musical notes from her chimes. “The boy! I forgot about dear sweet Peter…what have you been doing for the past six hours then? Unlike those rabbits who live across the street from you. You only have intercourse once per session. What is open at three am around these parts?”

You could have sworn you heard the metal latch of the gate.

But, there was a little breeze in the air and the windchimes were swinging about. Plus, it was morning and the normal sounds of suburbia were everywhere. Besides this was far more interesting than what you’d done with Rebecca’s brother.

Rebecca on the other hand, well she had indeed heard the metal gate unlatch.

With her new hearing aids, Rebecca could hear a cat in Baltimore break wind. She was actually a little surprised it took her brother, the alleged other super soldier, this long to figure out where you were going for most meals and evenings at home.

“Ah, well, you’ll be happy to hear your brother had an idea of how to break Hammer without cutting off any body parts…”

That last bit earning an eye roll from your friend. 

“…so we took Justin down to the docks to an abandoned warehouse and today, after I acquire bullets for my rifle and scout out some places for that little task you mentioned yesterday, I need to find some acid to make him hallucinate.”

Raising up a hand on the way to her beverage, Rebecca threw some shade your way. “Ok, first of all, I didn’t say parts…I merely suggested Mister Hammer may be more open to lines of conversation if we cut off his leg. Ok? You can live with one leg. I don’t know why you’re so resistant. It’s not like I suggested we cut out his kidneys and liver.”

“Not yet you didn’t, you blood thirsty witch,” was your comeback.

Something got your attention as you sipped the chocolatey coconuty goodness. But Rebecca went on, distracting you before you could properly checkout her yard. Totally overgrown with ivy and flowers and birdfeeders and trees.

“Any-penny-saver…” Becca forged on, sipping her own morning beverage, sans hot sauce. “We’ll just call my Uber Driver Chad. He has some side hustles. He can get you your bullets and put us in-touch with a reputable dealer. We want good quality acid. Chad is a man who appreciates quality. You’ve seen his car.”

Indeed, you had seen his car. 

The last time you rode in it, you’d had a near death experience. Rebecca on the other hand claimed it was a religious experience. After all, Chad had a statue of the Virgin Mary glued to his dashboard. Surely no harm would befall the neon green Charger of Destiny.

A noise that could have meant anything came from you.

Movement caught your attention and you turned, glanced over to be surprised by a male figure emerging from the green plant-life and wishing you had on more than your floral silk robe. 

Rebecca on the other hand was not startled. She smiled at the sight of her surprised older brother, looking not much older from the last time she’d seen him when he shipped out, but still so very different. Thicker, more muscular. Longer hair. Of course, that metal arm and moving with the fluidity of a predator.

“Good morning Jimmy. Took you long enough to wander your way back here. Come. Sit. Join us for breakfast.”

Upon seeing the shock at the recognition of his younger sister, now white haired and retired, James’s mouth gaped. “Rebecca?”

You stood. He was going to need a drink.

After years of friendship, Rebecca handed you her glass without glancing away from her stupefied brother. Years and years and years of friendship connected you two in ways married couples could only dream. 

“Top me off…though…”

“Yeah yeah…I know, I know…don’t drown it in tomato juice and no hot sauce before noon,” was your response.

Definitely no hot sauce.

Rebecca wanted all the time she could get with her brother. Who knew how long any of you three had in the world? It had been why she was so insistent on finding her brother again, once Steve had told her he’d seen him before Project Insight succeeded.

Rebecca had always believed her beloved James was out there somewhere.

They were siblings after all and he’d promised to return home before shipping out. She’d made countless trips over her life to Europe, to look for her brother. Then, after Hydra…she’d become busy resisting. She’d reconnected with Steve and he told her that Bucky was alive. He told her that Bucky was the Winter Soldier. 

He’d looked for Bucky for years. Never quite getting the right information at the right time. Always too late or not quick enough.

She almost felt bad about sending all the bombs to the Triskelion. 

But, Steve had to be made Director somehow. She was positive he’d survive the blast. She’d been positive that Steve would find her brother. If only he had access to the right information.

Rebecca hadn’t been wrong.

Her brother was here, in her yard, staring at her with the same eyes their mother had given her.

Rebecca had found her brother. And now her brother had come back to her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Hello friendly readers!!! I have a content warning and life update, lol.***
> 
> I apologize for my weirdly spaced updates lately. The past two weeks have been weird. Husband was working from home for two weeks due to exposure to Corona - he's fine and didn't have it, but he was home - here with me - in the same house and I love him dearly, but, he put a jam in my own work from home and hobbies and various pursuits. Fortunately, he's back at work. And then during that time I was hormonal from the PM and S and hated everything I wrote, lots got deleted, it was a thing. So now my posting is a bit off. Anywho, this chapter had to be broken in two parts, as it got away from me and I didn't want to have too much going on. <3 <3 <3
> 
> :::Content Warning:::  
> -This chapter has violence. Gun violence. There is mention of previous sexual assault and domestic abuse.-

**Two days later…**

“Peter,” you spoke softly, gently, absolutely touched that he would come to you with this most delicate of topics. That the young man would pick you to confide in warmed you. It gave you a little tingle. For the first time in hours, you lifted your head and placed a barehand to the base of your throat. “That was sweetest and most considerate thing I had ever heard come out of a young man’s mouth, in the entire time that I have been alive. And, let me say, this MJ girl, she is a _very_ lucky young lady. Ok? You are going to be an amazing lover.”

Even though it was dark, really dark, hella dark. 

Even though you could barely see his face.

Even though it was nearly two in the morning.

You knew he was blushing. You could hear it. You could practically see it in the way he lowered his head, bowed his shoulders in and looked away.

Considering all the time you spent with the young man.

He was probably as red as a stop sign.

Peter cleared his throat, laughed nervously, again attempted to clear his throat and then rubbed the back of his neck, which was covered with the high collar from his black tactical gear. “Well…you know…I mean…I want it to be…special, for her…Michelle…for our first time. And, you know, you’re a girl…woman, definitely a woman. I thought I’d ask…you. You…you…you know what…feels nice, good.”

More throat clearing came, followed by coughing and you were briefly concerned for Steve’s brother-in-law.

“Chill out Peter. If you fall off this building then you’ll give us away. And I do not have time to find a new spot.”

After all, it was nearly time, according to the updates Phil was giving the two of you.

You were on hour three of lying flat on your stomach, on an almost top floor of a somewhat abandoned, somewhat condemned, building in Baltimore, that had an absolutely prefect view of a penthouse hotel suite about three quarters of a mile away. 

Depending on traffic, give or take twenty to thirty minutes, six high ranking Hydra officials would be returning to their hotel room after a night on the town. It seemed their grief from the prospect of tomorrows funeral, for Alexander Pierce, had driven them to visit several bars and Baltimore’s liveliest strip club.

According to Phil, three of the men were critical targets.

When the time came, Peter would get closer to tell you their exact locations in the luxury hotel. Three of them were an absolute must. Three of the others were high valued targets that would also be super if you were able to hit. Additionally, four of the others were also important Hydra figures. If you had the time and were able, that’d be great too, if not, Phil told you not to worry.

But earlier, way earlier that day, Phil had swung by Rebecca’s to tell you that there would be two additional people in attendance. Two females from Europe. One a Hydra General and another the second highest ranking person in the Hydra UN Leadership. According to Phil, it would have been just ‘super’ if you could get them too and it seemed, they’d done their grieving with the group.

Unfortunately, you were only able to acquire ten bullets from Chad’s guy on such short notice.

It was almost like, Hydra didn’t want you to be able to take your M107 Sniper Rifle out, for a night on the town.

She was a thing of beauty too.

Nearly five feet long. Capable of firing a fifty-caliber projectile up to a mile away, maybe more, depending on conditions. Metal. Easy to break down and put in your bag, for when Peter came to pick you up. She was your baby. One of your most prized possessions. You’d spent days finding the absolute perfect spot when Phil told you about the incoming delegates. You’d gotten out your night vision thermal scope, one that would allow you to pick up body heat signatures from all this way back. You and Peter had spent the past few nights watching people in the hotel, setting up a system for calling out targets and locations for this exact moment.

Peter would have to get creative. You’d told him that he’d have to keep an eye out for a shot that would allow you to hit two of your targets with one bullet. Totally doable. Each bullet was nearly six inches long.

Conditions were just perfect. You could do it twice. Of that you were certain.

Spending time with your best girl was always magic.

Getting home alive would be another thing entirely. 

You were about to assassinate twelve Hydra delegates. Once you fired your last shot, you had to get the hell home as Baltimore and DC would go on lockdown. Putting an end to your night on the town.

Resting your cheek back down on your weapon, you peered back through the scope at the empty hotel room across the night sky.

Knowing Peter, you could guess he’d done his research. You could only imagine all the sources he’d consulted. The thought was horrifying. Considering all of what was on the internet and how smart Peter was, there was no telling what he’d find out.

“Peter. Do you remember when I taught you how to shoot this gun?”

You kicked your legs up and down, curled up against your weapon, watched the streamers that Peter had put up around for you to determine wind direction and speed.

Those streamers hung limp.

It was a good night to be out on the town.

“Of course I do,” was his answer.

A little twitch, a peek back into the dark vast empty space, filled with old dusty office furniture long since abandoned. Whatever it was didn’t concern you. It was why Peter usually paired up with you. You felt safe with the young man. Being enhanced, he noticed things that you didn’t and had on numerous occasions, been the reason why you were still alive.

If he determined that whatever he picked up on wasn’t worthy of further inspection, you were ready to go with his gut.

He’d more than proved himself to you.

“Well, Peter, having sex with a woman is like handling this weapon. One third is maintenance. You need to keep your weapon well lubricated and maintained, so you want to be sure that Michelle is happy. If your relationship with Michelle is not good then you’re not getting sex. Period.”

“Ok,” he was nodding, you could tell he was nodding.

“Another this is reading signs. We have to keep watch of wind, distance, temperature, weather, targets, movement to get a shot. Right?”

“Uh-huh…” more nodding, more glancing back.

You rolled your shoulders, arched your back and flexed your finger over the trigger.

You were ready,

You were relaxed. 

You knew you were safe and Peter would do his job, so you could do yours.

“You know your girlfriend. In bed, you have to learn the signs that’ll tell you what feels good and what doesn’t. Noises, noises are good indicators. She may moan. She may be vocal and tell you want feels good. You might have to watch her body to see what makes her tense up, or curl up, or twitch. Take your time to learn what makes her feel good and don’t rush anything. Remember what happened when you rushed on this gun?”

“My shooting was better when I took my time and didn’t rush.”

Metal on metal.

You definitely heard that and actually lifted your head to look over at Peter, not over your shoulder. No. Peter was peering out of the night vision binoculars you’d given him, through the completely open window. 

In the past two days, he’d removed the glass, so you wouldn’t get it everywhere when you began shooting.

Kneeling inches away from you in all black too, Peter’s gaze was intent on the hotel in the distance. “It’s just Bucky. He had to climb up the elevator shaft because I destroyed every other way up here.”

The thought warmed you.

Peter had promised no one would be sneaking up on you. He promised you’d be safe while he was away and then he’d come back for you.

After which, your attention returned back to your weapon.

Leading you to your last thought.

“And then you have skill and practice. Rome wasn’t built in a day Peter. You’re going to have to take your time and put in the effort and if you do that, it’ll be good. It’s not going to be crazy amazing at first, because nothing is. But if you make sure to focus your attention on the clit and give her an orgasm or two, that’ll set you on the right path for romance.”

Metal noises. Crunching, whining, metal on metal noises.

Peter lowered his binoculars and peered over at you. Making sure to internalize every last thing you told him. 

Asking guys was one thing, but you were a woman. You surely would know what felt good and he so very much wanted to make his first time with Michelle, which would be her first time too, special. Asking his friends at the security school was pointless. They were in the same boat as him. Asking Steve was just a big no. Peter could not ask the man doing unspeakable things to his sister for sex advice.

As for Bucky, he was pretty sure that the former Winter Soldier was going out at night to see you. Or doing god only knew what. Bucky was not exactly a shining beacon of transparency. For all he knew, the metal armed psycho was typing up death threats on an old typewriter, in his bedroom, while eating Cheetos and wearing boxer shorts with red hearts on them

“Well…what do you like? What do girls, women, ladies…like?”

He was so cute, so adorable.

If only your first husband, or second one even, had taken even a remote interest in what made you feel good. Your first husband simply hadn’t cared. He didn’t care about a lot of things. Your second, Brock, hadn’t been terrible, he’d been quick too. It never was painful for which you were grateful. Sex with James though. Sex with James seemed to be the universes reward to you for all the shit it’d put you through. Or so that was your theory.

No heat signatures other than the three Hydra Security Officers showed up in your scope.

Again, you stretched your finger, rested your ankles on the cool hard dirty floor, as you kept your breathing steady, your heartbeat slow, relaxed, calm, your entire self as relaxed as possible so you could hit every one of your targets, without your body reacting at all to the stimuli. If you could get completely in your zone and shoot between heartbeats, then that would just be the cherry on top of your Sunday. 

“Personally…well…I like oral sex. Foreplay is very important for me to be ready for sex. Every woman is different, like every man is different. My breasts too. And if I may say something?”

“Please,” was his response.

“Don’t over do it. Lots of times guys seem to feel like they need to do five things at once and end up either doing none of it very well, or they’re too rough, or don’t do it well. So go slow. Take your time. Don’t try to do everything all at once. You understand where I’m going?”

Peter did, or he was beginning to as he heard metal strain and the elevator doors begin to open. “Yeah…I think, keep it simple.”

Whoever this MJ was, she was a lucky girl.

“Exactly. Keep it simple.” You murmured, hearing static in your ear from someone on the frequency. Within arms distance, Peter made a pained noise and held his own ear. On you elaborated, as something metal clanged behind you. If Peter wasn’t concerned, then you wouldn’t be either. “You’re young. You have your whole life to partake in the pleasures of the flesh young man. For your first time, I’d suggest, go with what feels right and you both enjoy and just focus on those things. Otherwise you’ll just be overwhelmed and it won’t be enjoyable. Don’t over think it.”

Your own experience with men up until you’d connected with your wonderful Walter and then James, had been, horrific.

What you would have given for your first time to just be awkward and uncomfortable. For you, your wedding night, it’d been brutal and painful and had only gotten worse with each time that followed. Death had been such a relief, an escape from your suffering. And then you’d been given Brock. He hadn’t been too bad. He’d been quick. He’d used plenty of lube so nothing hurt. He hadn’t forced you to do anything. You’d forever be grateful for that mercy from him. All you had to do was take it and wait for it to be over. When Lynette had told you about the agency and you’d built up enough courage to set up a date, you had been SHOCKED when Walter had given you an orgasm. Convinced that you were the only person who would ever give you one.

“What are you doing here? Phil said you weren’t taking part tonight cause you aren’t part of the resistance yet.”

You didn’t need to look back to know that James had made entry.

More static in your ear told you the other resistance members down on the ground, located throughout the city in various places for optimal view of the vehicles, were getting excited.

Soon.

Soon you’d get to do your part.

Soft sounds of boots on the floor caught your ear.

Because of course Peter would be up here with you. James wasn’t even shocked. Every single suicide mission Phil sent you on, Peter was always along for the ride it seemed. But this…this was an insult. That you would dare leave him out of this much fun.

Fighting the urge to push the boy out the open window. James walked closer to the pair of you and said open widow on the long-abandoned floor of an empty building. Over where Peter knelt with a pair of high-quality binoculars.

There was his girl, lying down on her stomach and curled up with an absolutely stunning piece of weaponry. Dressed from head to toe in black.

“You’re gonna get in trouble with Phil…” his girl sang, not lifting her face from her scope even once. So dedicated to the mission, the task, bloodshed and violence, gunpowder and recoil. It made his dark jeans a wee bit uncomfortable. And did you have on some type of repelling harness? Black straps wrapped around the inside of your thighs and went up around your waist and chest. And just when he didn’t think it was possible for him to be more sexually attracted to you.

James ignored when the both of you flinched, hearing Phil’s voice without the aid of an earpiece, informing every one of the targets movements.

“Yeah he is,” Peter snickered and James couldn’t help but feel like he’d stepped in on some sort of partnership between the two of you. An underlying bond that he hadn’t ever really noticed before and it didn’t bother him, it was more of a surprise in that he didn’t look at Peter as a fully-fledged adult. Peter was just the younger brother of Steve’s wife, who made weird movie references and was sticky. When Peter looked back at him, he couldn’t help but feel like the young man was handing off a torch to him. When the young man spoke, it wasn’t directed at him. Giving James just one more reminder of how much things had changed. “I’m gonna go get into place. You good here?”

“Yeah I’m good. Remember to line some of them up for me. We only have ten bullets.”

Watching you interact with the boy felt almost like he was intruding, which was weird. Peter was so slim, so tiny. Watching Peter pull on a black mask and clip the binoculars on his black vest like a professional, it settled in him how much he needed to get made a member. He needed to speak with Rebecca. You were relying on Peter in situations that called for someone far more bloodthirsty, someone who had a specific skillset and knowledge. Someone who wasn’t a child.

Peter let out a deep breath. “Fingers crossed. Don’t forget all the hooks I showed you for the elevator harness. Squelch the earpiece three times if you get into trouble and I’ll double back.”

Oh yes, he was most definitely getting Rebecca to overrule Phil asap.

A wave, a freaking wave, was directed at James before Peter just stepped out the open window, leaving him with you.

Looking around, he couldn’t help notice it was a prime spot you two had found and nestled into for the task. An abandoned building with enough height and cover to make him a smidge jealous. And that was even before he got a closer look at your weapon. Oh your weapon. Which was nearly as long as you were. A modified guitar case beside it for carrying around the disassembled weapon.

Approaching, James found himself dropping down on his knees, almost straddling your thighs, so he could get a look alongside the weapon to see where you were aiming.

You stiffened, but then relaxed nearly as quickly.

Knowing what he knew about you, it didn’t offend him. Eventually, there would come a day when you grew accustomed to him and didn’t need to see every single touch coming and he would celebrate that day. Until then, he was a patient man.

“And where have you been hiding this little beauty?”

Not getting a peek through the scope, he was still able to line up your weapon to the building and floor. He noticed the streamers on the surrounding buildings and even Peter Tarzaning his way through those buildings in black.

You weren’t able to hide your amusement. “Under my bed.” His weight had been a surprise. Anytime someone touched you when you didn’t anticipate it, it was a surprise and still made you flinch, jump, recoil. Although, there was something about James’s weight that differentiated him from everyone else. He was heavier. He was much heavier. Due to his metal arm and your body recognized that you suspected, recognized it and stored it away for such times as present. Feeling all that weight put him in a different camp from other men, allowing you to not panic.

“How many?”

Obviously he’d heard your comment about just having ten bullets so you told him, “Twelve. There are some binoculars in my bag,” as Phil updated you in your ear that they were on their way to the hotel. Leading you to stretch out your trigger finger again, stretch out your legs and arch your back to get comfortable, loosen up, prepare yourself to fire when your body was at its stillest and most relaxed, when there would be absolutely no movement from you to throw off your shot even a bit, even from a movement so seemingly inconsequential as your own heartbeat. 

From where he straddled your hips, Rebecca’s brother leaned down to press his lips softly against the back of your neck, and then he slid off you and you could hear him rustle around in your pack.

James was equally inspired by the contents of your black backpack. You really were the perfect person for him. Two handguns, three full magazines, a flare gun, a wad of cash held together with a rubber band, a knife that could have gutted a tank, a passport, some granola bars, a bottle of water, medical supplies, a burner phone and those binoculars. You were marriage material.

He heard Phil’s updates as clearly as you did, in the time it took for the targets to get to the hotel, he’d made himself comfortable. No longer speaking because he of all people knew what level of _in the zone_ you needed to be. 

James fiddled around with the binoculars and was excited to see there were several settings. Obviously the pair was stolen. It was high value and one of those settings was night vision with thermal optics, that allowed him to see all the way to the hotel, plus in the hotel.

Right after Phil told you that the vehicles were at the hotel, James noticed you reached up to touch your ear, the earpiece. 

He realized you’d changed the channel when he heard your voice drift around the quiet space. Relaxed. Calm. Focused. “You there Skywalker?”

James frowned.

Until he heard Peter’s youthful voice come through the ear piece. “Here. In position. You ready?”

“Ready. Give me the first two for acclimating. Tell me when everyone is in and the door is locked tight.”

Unable to even help the quirk of his lips, of course that little shit would have manipulated the door somehow to prevent the Hydra Targets from leaving. Maybe the boy wasn’t all that annoying?

“Cool…I mean, yes, I will. I’ll call them out to you.”

You yourself smiled and then lowered your hand from your ear comm. You had absolutely no idea where Peter was, except for the fact he was close enough to tell you when you made a kill, or not. Close enough to see if any of them were close enough for you to hit two with one round. Which you’d done in practice with a smaller rifle. However, practice targets didn’t move and your pride and joy was far larger than your other weapons. You couldn’t exactly take the M107 out for a day of target practice. Now, not only were the bullets harder to get, but Hydra spies were everywhere and it was a very noticeable weapon. It was big and loud and could kill a tree. Which had been how you learned on it. Trees. The ammunition was simply too large to take anywhere else.

Reaching down into your pocket, you pulled out a single ear plug for some degree of protection. Your earpiece was specially made to offer sound protection from your baby. But you needed to protect your other ear resting beside the weapon.

So you stuffed that on in and watched human shaped blobs appear, as orange and yellow figures, in your scope. 

“They’re entering the room,” Peter announced.

James shifted around beside you to spread out on his stomach, mirroring your position.

One by one, you watched them file in, so very far away. 

“Winds are dead still. Flags aren’t moving at all. I’ll let you know if they start and the weather is totally clear.” Peter updated.

One, two…three four five, six seven…eight…there was some stumbling around as the figures wandered into the spacious top floor hotel penthouse suite. Nine, ten, eleven, and twelve.

Done.

Peter’s voice came through the little piece of technology in your ear. “All twelve of them are in and the door is locked and secure.”

Leading you to look for the most optimal target, as the different shaped colors began to move around. Breathing in controlled and steady breaths, loosening up, comparing one from the other and then, when your body was at its stillest…you pulled back gently on the trigger.

Feeling the weapon kick against your shoulder. Hearing the discharge like a cannon in the night. A second or two passed before you smelled the gunpowder, like a firework. It rocked you for moment, then you rested your head back down to look through your scope.

“Direct hit to the chest.”

The shapes weren’t moving too much yet. In shock probably. Likely trying to sort out what happened. Telling you that you could squeeze off another shot before they began to panic.

You looked for one to get in the rhythm. Get yourself settled before the real challenge of hitting moving targets at this distance popped up. 

Steadying your breathing, searching, steadying your breathing, looking…a gentle pull on the trigger, because there was no need to grip it tightly.

Another explosion into the night. Your shoulder took the impact from the weapons discharge, the recoil. Peppering the dirty floor beneath in gunpowder as you launched a projectile into the air with murderous intent.

Peter’s voice was a little surprised, he even made a noise that made you wonder if he’d almost fallen from the building. “Oh wow…you hit two! Direct hit to the chest from the side and the lady behind him to the side. It went through him and into her at the arm through the side…she’s on the floor but still moving. I don’t know…she might live.”

From beside you came James’s calm purr. “She’ll bleed out or die from shock first. Don’t worry about her. You hit them with a round big enough to take out a building.”

He really said the sweetest things to you.

And then, as you expected, the human shaped figures moved around more in your scope, as they realized that they were being shot at by a sniper. Not that you were upset. You actually did not mind moving targets. A moving target you could calculate for, it was the still targets that suddenly moved that were the pains in your ass. And as you began to make those quick calculations, you again slowed your breathing, relaxed, drifted into that state of calm tranquility to get that perfect shot, when your body was absolutely still to ensure your shot hit. 

“Still no wind,” Peter updated you. “There are four, no three…no four running for the door. In a second I’ll try and line them up.”

In response, you aimed at one of the yellowish red figures running further into the suite.

A soft tug later and your rifle smacked you in the shoulder again.

You were so going to have a bruise tomorrow.

“Direct hit. Now…they are actually fighting to get out and crawling on one another to get through the door. They’re just piling on each other.”

Now James wasn’t about to say this was his idea of a perfect date. However, James was willing to say that watching someone with such skill, such poise and patience, use a finely crafted piece of weaponry to reign chaos down upon his enemies…it touched him. It had him feeling the need to bend down and worship at the altar of you.

With each additional fire from your gun, a brief ringing went off in his ears, gunpowder covered everything. 

He could see the results of each shot in his binoculars. The shapes get thrown around when one of your bullets hit, ending up in a gory macabre ballet.

“If you hit three of them at once, I’ll wear my dress uniform to bed tomorrow night.”

Beside him, you paused after a shot that according to the boy was another “Direct Hit” and sent the orange figure in his binoculars down to the ground, in two pieces. Before you began to practice your breathing to slow your heartbeat, you softly spoke, a whisper in the dark chaos of the abandoned floor and night. “And the boots?”

Tomorrow would be a special day. After the Hydra funeral and then the memorial post burial, both of you had to attend, you had already made plans to return back to your house and copulate, perhaps even twice. 

“Baby…” he paused, hearing your breathing even out even more. “If you hit three of them at once. I’ll shave my face and let you ride it while wearing those damn boots the whole time.”

God were those boots uncomfortable and a pain in the ass to shine. But if his girl wanted him to wear them, then he’d keep them on. Besides, there was something sort of special the way you looked at him when he wore them. Something almost predatory, primal, you looked at him as if he wore them just for you.

An explosion came from his left.

He even heard Peter screech out in shock a second or two after he saw the colors move, then fall still, through the binoculars in his hands.

“Oh my god…three direct hits, all to the head.”

Even though he remarked, “Now you’re just showing off,” he was smirking.

***

The most frightening part of your night was not what you did with your rifle. 

Nor was it rappelling down the elevator shaft above James, down floor after floor after floor after floor. And you weren’t that big of a fan of heights. Ever since your first husband had taken to shoving you down stairs. There was something pleasing about having solid ground beneath one’s footing.

You were ready to kiss the filthy floor of the elevator shaft when you felt strong hands on your calves steady you and help you those last few feet. As if you weighed nothing. And ok, James had taken your backpack and guitar case holding one of your top five favorite possessions, you still were always blown away at how strong he was. Intellectually you knew he was a super soldier. You knew what ran through Steve’s blood was in his and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to be frightened of James. You’d watched him hurt people. You’d seen him kill people. Your previous spouse had been equally as violent with you throughout your entire marriage and yet…yet…you found yourself not fearing that you’d face the same by his hand, flesh or metal. 

It was not when you followed James out of the elevator shaft and through an abandoned building, out onto streets of a part of the city that Hydra’s bravest rarely ventured without the tactical team.

In the distance, you heard so many sirens. You could hear people screaming, you could hear sounds of cars speeding by and even glass breaking somewhere nearby. 

The most frightening part of your night was not when you led James through the maze of alleyways that was your escape route. Through a homeless encampment that you’d not been looking forward to zipping through previously, a bad feeling had even settled into your chest at the thought of having to do it alone, without Peter, in the dark. Through those several city blocks and under an overpass, where he almost got into several fights with various males and only the pressing need to hurry on through kept him focused.

No, the most frightening part of the night came when James walked down the alleyway behind a liquor store, rusty bars covering every window, covered with graffiti, broken glass and dirty needles littered around on the ground, setting eyes on your ride home and letting out a noise that could only be described as utter unholy disbelief. 

“Oh you have got to be goddamn shitting me!”

There, backed into the alleyway trunk first, sat a Lincoln Navigator that he’d never set eyes on. The elderly woman smoking in the front seat he more than recognized.

You elected to not even.

Unlike your neighbors across the street, the Roger’s, you didn’t fight or argue or bicker anymore. Just no. You’d learned your lesson and weren’t even going to engage in behavior that dangerous with men no matter who.

James’s sister did not share your opinion.

A red and black track suit covered arm, attached to a cigarette holding hand, hung out the open driver’s window. She peered out of that window, as you walked closer to one of the vehicles that belonged to the resistance that was rotated around, as well as bearing a plate that didn’t belong on it. You’d been the one to steal the damn thing.

“No one asked for your opinion Jimmy! Get in if you want a ride home!”

Totally distracted, James stormed his way over to the driver’s window and was even more horrified to see movement from the back seat as the front passenger door opened.

This was a disaster. A fucking operational disaster. His brain could not even comprehend how many things that could go wrong with the whole set up and that was even before he realized that Peter was in the back seat, nude. There appeared to be his sisters handbag in his lap covering up his decency.

At first, he was almost at a loss for words.

Almost.

How you all were still alive was beyond him.

“Why is the boy naked?”

Rebecca didn’t look away, her gaze shrewd and unrepentant. She put her cigarette to her lips and inhaled, as you climbed into the front passenger seat and then glanced back, right before you began to shed a few layers to help your friend.

“Maybe he likes being naked? This is the twenty-first century Jimmy. Get in. We’re leaving.”

“I’m driving.”

A cackle came from Rebecca as your jacket came off and went into the back.

Peter quietly, but gratefully, thanked you.

“He went through a window and got glass everywhere and I’m in charge, so I’m driving, and I’m seconds away from driving over your foot. I did it when I learned how to drive and I’ll do it again. Don’t sass me!”

So not what he wanted to hear, but far from done, he yanked the tobacco from his sisters hand and crushed it under his boot. Resulting in an outraged high-pitched noise coming from the driver’s seat.

“Fine! But you better tell Phil to stop it. If he doesn’t stop objecting to my joining this little circus when the sun comes up, I’m going to end him and no one will ever find his body. Got that Becca?”

Now Rebecca understood, hell, she’d been the one who humored the whole thing, wanting to be absolute certain that if her brother wanted to be a member of the resistance, it was because he wanted it. Really wanted it. She wasn’t about to let another cause use her brother like a tool, not after everything he’d been through. It was her sole purpose, for whatever time she had left, to make sure her brother would be ok when she was gone.

Rebecca rolled her eyes, groaned even, like a petulant teenager.

Deep down, she was glad, she wanted him to be sure, one hundred percent positive.

“I mean it Becca. Not one single part of Phil will be recognizable. Pieces! He will be in pieces!”

“I got it Jimmy! Get in! We’re going!”

Not that James was about to deal with that, he looked behind his sister to see the pale exposed flesh of Steve’s brother-in-law and was about to tell his sister that he’d find his own way home, when you spoke up, pushing yourself up in the front passenger seat. “No biggie. I’ll hop in the back. I’ve seen Peter naked plenty.”

Before you could turn, forget crawl into the backseat from the front, James cried out, “Forget it Kitten. I’m getting in the back right now. Just stay up there.”

The most scalding of looks was sent his sisters way.

An obscene gesture came from his sister, right before she rolled up her window and when the door behind Rebecca opened, he was greeted to a significant amount of young nubile flesh.

Needless to say, the backpack was flung in first, in order to serve as the DMZ between James and the boy.

***

You were in trouble.

So much trouble.

So much trouble that you were doomed.

You were about to ruin absolutely everything, again.

Not that you were surprised. This always happened. You always did this. You always couldn’t do this. It was like some sort of internal civil war that always ended the same way and it wasn’t fair.

And yet, you were at that brink.

You were butting up against it. You were just right there. Hitting it, again and again and again. Right outside your sliding glass door of your back patio. Not even in your house. 

In the dark. Hours away from dawn, hours away from what would be a day-long event of Alexander Pierce’s funeral. One hand sunk into the loose mess that was James’s hair while your other clung to the strap of your backpack, still on his back. Your guitar case was still slung over his shoulder too.

Your heart lulled slowly, methodically, rolled practically with his mouth on your neck, his hot wet tongue making you so wet you could feel the dampness growing and spreading. God did he know how to do things with his tongue. His hands too. The uniquely specific smell of him, paired with the lingering scent of gunpowder and the plants all around in your back yard stamped a memorable impression to your memory, one that would last forever.

Hands, one flesh and one metal, gripped your ass, kneaded your cheeks, held you so close up against him that you could feel his erection rubbing against your abdomen. Your shoulders dug roughly into the side of your house.

He was all you could see, feel and taste, that nimble tongue having just left the sanctity that was your mouth to explore as his fingers gripped, as his hips pushed.

Shit did it feel good, was it exquisite, did it just make your breasts ache and your pelvis push back against him, rub up into him like some sort of creature in heat, just begging to be fucked.

Your mind screamed at you in panic, terror, fear, horror.

Screamed at you to run. Screamed at you to get away. Screamed at you to holler for help. Screamed at you. Screamed and screamed and screamed.

Screamed at you that this was dangerous. Screamed at you that you were in danger.

Screamed and screamed that he was going to overpower you, screamed that he would rip your clothes away. Screamed that he would overpower you, push into you and take what he wanted, take and take and ignore your pleas and begging and tears for him to stop, for him to not hurt you, for him to please please please stop.

Your brain screamed at you that you were in danger from this man. He could so easily just rip you apart.

As hard as you could, you tried not to think about it, tried not to go there, to just assume that this would lead to brutalization, end up with you curled up on the ground bleeding…torn, shaking, alone.

Before you could even think straight, your hands were pulling away, your hands were pushing at his chest. Your voice came out quietly, pleading, “Wait…wait, stop.”

And he stopped.

James lifted his head and even in the dark you knew he was looking at you, you could hear his concern, feel his hands loosen and slide up to rest on your waist. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

He stopped.

He’d stopped.

Which brought on the shame, guilt too. Where there was shame there was always guilt. They liked to travel together. 

Tears burnt in your eyes and you shuddered in your attempt to not cry at your weakness.

Pieces of his hair brushed against your forehead. 

“Kitten?”

It came out in a burst, a tumble of words, a few hot tears escaping, your words shuddering, your jaw trembling. “I can’t have sex with you right now. I can’t have sex right now. I’m not ready. I can’t.”

“I know.”

Two simple words that were so basic, so calm, so understanding.

Oh the guilt and shame.

He knew, of course he knew. Why wouldn’t he know. Your chest shuddered and James pressed his forehead to yours. And did he know. He of all people knew. He didn’t at all think that what you told him a couple days ago would suddenly change overnight, or with some light petting.

“Tonight is our date. Tonight we’ll be together. This is me and you touching, nothing else.”

Deeply you inhaled, shaking with the exhale and so grateful for the darkness that hid your scarlet cheeks, now wet from hot unwanted tears.

“Kitten.” James was firm, resolute. “You told me that you have to prepare yourself for sex and I understand that, I know I’m not having sex any time before tonight. I am a grown man. I am in full control of my body. Do you understand? I would never force myself on you.”

“I’m sorry Jimmy.”

If you’d stabbed, it would have hurt less.

Easily he could make out the moisture on your face and the hitch in your voice, feel you shaking in his grip. This from the woman who’d curled up with a weapon of war and executed several high-ranking enemies without a second of hesitation.

It didn’t bother him that you were like this. It really didn’t.

Aside from the fact that someone had done this to you and that thought sent him off to dark and violent bloody places, which was another issue all of its own. But the fact you were unable to be spontaneous. It didn’t bother him. The fact that your clothes could not come off unless you’d had time to mentally prepare yourself. It wasn’t an issue.

“I want to. I really really want to. I’m turned on, I am, I swear. It’s…it’s my body and my head just can’t get on the same page. I’m so sorry.”

If you apologized one more time, he really was going to get upset.

“You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything. I understand. I do.” And the metal hand on your waist seemed to remind you that he did understand, he understood and you couldn’t even be whole for him. “Kitten, it’s me. It is me and you. I won’t do anything that you don’t want. But you don’t have to have sex to feel good, all of our clothes can stay on and we can still feel good.”

You knew he wouldn’t lie to you. You were skeptical though. You were so frazzled, so split, you couldn’t think straight as your fingers sank into the material of his shirt, his jacket having gone to Cause De-Nude Peter.

“Do you want me to touch you? Above the clothes? I can make you feel so good.”

Your body about shorted out, but you nodded. You nodded and hiccupped, unable to speak without crying or gasping, or knowing what would come out. He had stopped though. You had told him to stop and he did. He’d listened to you.

“All you have to do is say no, or stop, or slow down. Hell…call me by another man’s name, that’ll stop me dead in my tracks Kitten.”

Almost, you almost laughed.

You rested your head back against the side of your house, to survey him, almost on your way to feeling close to a little better.

“Slide your leg over my thigh. I’ll show you what we used to do in the thirties.”

And then, finally, you couldn’t help yourself. “I’ve heard all about your thigh rides.”

Not from Rebecca though.

Not recently either.

You could remember sneaking around the Barnes family home, spying on him and his girlfriends with Rebecca, giggling, making fun of the breathy sounds that followed, not quite understanding, not till you were older. You listened though. You lifted up your knee to hook it up over his thigh, gasping a little when he stepped closer, when his metal hand slipped down to hold your thigh, spread it open.

“This ok?”

A whisper came out, “Yeah.”

Closer he stepped, closer till his leg brushed against your other one and you were pressed back against the wall again. All those layers of clothes between you, protecting you, sheltering you, acting as armor.

Yeah you were ok. You were good. 

You were even better when his hip pressed against you, pushed up just right.

“Shit,” you swore. You couldn’t help it. Your fingers sank into his shirt, your thigh hooked around him tighter and it became very clear, based on sound alone, just how wet you were.

“Kitten? You wanna ride my leg? Or you want me to ruin my underwear too? You don’t even have to say anything. Just wrap your pretty leg up around me.”

Up went your other leg.

Smoothly, without seemingly any effort, even in the dark, James bounced you up, balanced you between himself and the wall, slotted himself between your thighs. 

Once more, you felt his erection bulge through his jeans as you made yourself comfortable, held on, curled your legs and then felt him rub up against you, push against you, rub your drenched panties against you in a perfect way.

You moaned. You made a soft noise and opened your hips wider, arched up against him to roll your pelvis. Knowing exactly what to do in response.

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” you gasped shortly, quickly, eyes clenching shut.

Not that he blamed you, not one bit. The smell of you alone went to his dick, sounds were a close second with every hard rub against you, letting him know just how damn wet you were. Your panties were a mess just like his would be soon. The pressure on his aching member was almost too much. James wasn’t going to last long at all. He was going to climax in his pants and he didn’t care. And that was even before you began to roll your hips against him hesitantly, slowly at first, testing it out.

“Kiss me,” you gasped, tightening your fingers in his shirt. Wrapping the warm cotton between your digits.

There was something else that you needed, you needed more from him. This was wonderful and fucking amazing, but you needed more. You didn’t know how to ask, so just saying it felt right.

He did, pushing his hips up between your thighs, shoving you back and up against the wall, applying that perfect amount of pressure to his cock and your clit, you trembled in a good way and his body was starting to tighten.

Kiss you?

James could absolutely do that. Kiss you? Without a doubt.

Leaning down, he took your mouth in his on an upwards push and when you gasped out, he slipped his tongue in, curled it around yours, groaned deeply at how soft and wet you were just everywhere. Imagery and sensation alone made his dick come alive against the delicious contrast of his clothes, another stimulant against his living, demanding, eager flesh.

It was just as good as sex.

It felt good. You felt great. You didn’t have to be naked for James to make you both come. You didn’t have to be naked to indulge. Touch was so underrated. Kissing was so underrated.

On his next upward push of his pelvis, essentially humping you like a teenager, you sucked on his tongue and James came right then and there in his pants, grinding against you in his release. Tight and hot, his balls tightened, pulsing against rough denim, smearing his cum against his shaft, on the fabric and his own scalding flesh.

He couldn’t remember the last time he came in his pants like that and fuck did it feel good. It didn’t matter that both of you were fully dressed. It still felt as good as it did any other way. It didn’t matter so long as you were in his arms, kissing him, pulling on his shirt, breathing out profanities and his name.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter because when you came, you came because of him, because he made you feel good and safe and comfortable enough to be that vulnerable and give that to him, and that was an aphrodisiac in itself.

James savored how breathy your voice got, he relished how your hips tightened around his and your groin bucked against him, from the sensation, as you reached your own orgasm. In the throes as you shivered and trembled from pleasure this time, he licked your top lip and kissed the bottom, just savoring how you tasted and felt. He held you tight and told you that you were beautiful and strong and made him feel like he was whole again.

Yes, this was just as good.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::I apologize for the delay. I had planned to update this earlier, last week earlier. But then...you know, and I didn't feel comfortable posting what I had wrote here after those events. (In the United States Capitol) So I had a massive rewrite till I was comfortable with my end result. I had a lot of wonderful questions about this story and hope that this ending is satisfactory, until I can decide how to progress with the big reveal between these two characters. Thank you for your wonderful support!! <3 :::

_**Later that day…** _

“How was the funeral?”

How was Alexander Pierce’s funeral?

Upon stepping out onto Rebecca’s extravagant back patio in your full funeral regalia, you plopped down onto a cushy chair that you would most definitely need assistance in removing yourself from, whenever you decided to get up. Considering the long sleeved tailored black dress you had on and the shapewear beneath, you’d been on a liquid diet all day.

Up on your perfectly coiffed hair was a black hatbox. Pinned into place for the day.

A national day of mourning to be precise.

To answer, you had to blow the black veil off your face. “Tedious.”

And it was.

In your personal opinion, it was all a bit over the top. All of DC had been shut down so people could pay their respects to the motorcade, as it drove its way to the national cathedral. 

It’d been packed. Full of mourners. Alleged mourners. 

For nearly three hours, you sat beside some woman who sobbed as if her world had ended. 

You hadn’t cried that much when you had the memorial service for Brock. 

On your other side had been a Sokovian Colonel who shook. Nay, trembled with rage for the entire event. And you were certain that it was rage. Because he clenched his gloved hands hard enough to bust a few seams of said gloves.

At the thought, you lifted your own hands to observe your black silk gloves. Thin soft veil falling back down over your eyes, brushing over your nose.

Rebecca watched you with a raised eyebrow.

Before her, spread out on the patio table, were maps and plans for upcoming missions and ongoing projects. Sometimes she wished she were young again. Sometimes she even wished she’d been with you that night, so you two could have experienced whatever had happened to you together and could share this life together. Share this second chance with her brother. Have youth while leading the resistance.

But…on the other hand, she never would have met her beloved late husband. Becca could never give up her wonderful life. No. Such was the horrible position she was placed in with the only consolation being that when she passed, you would be here with James.

Leaning back in her cushy wicker chair and ignoring the sound of squeaky boots on her recently mopped kitchen floor. Rebecca scrunched her nose at the sight of your black shiny heels. Oh did they look painful. Nearly points at the heel bottom. Even sunk down deep in an oversized beanbag chair the size of a stove that Peter usually sat in, you looked as tired as Rebecca felt. Tugging off your gloves to reveal blood red nails. A diamond ring on your widows finger.

“I sat between a Sokovian who mumbled the entire time and a woman who wept all over the place. I’ve got half a mind to throw away this dress instead of having it dry cleaned. Utterly distasteful. If I die again, do not weep like that at my funeral.” 

Rebecca knew you wouldn’t throw away the dress.

Both of you had grown up in the Great Depression. You would never throw away a perfectly good dress that looked that excellent on you.

Rebecca also knew better than to offer you lunch. Not when you were wearing that dress. Not even when she heard James rooting around in her fridge. 

Her new hearing aides were life changing.

“If you die again. I’m bringing Walter to your funeral and fully intend to make a scene.”

Making you nod your head in approval. Then sag your head back to relax for the moment in the outside paradise to sounds of windchimes, birds and a lawnmower somewhere in the distance. Smells of plants and flowers and dirt made you want to walk around in the grassy yard in your stockinged feet.

“You’re a good friend Becca.”

“The best,” she nodded, finally dropping her red pen. Crossing her legs, Becca smoothed a hand over a black track suited leg. The world was in mourning after all. Bounced her sneaker. Inquired. “What’s next on your big day of honoring Mister Pierce?”

What a day it would be too.

Mindful not to in any way damage your makeup or smear your lipstick. You made the safest face of irritation possible. Lifted your head up to show such expression to your closest friend. “A memorial service at the old Hydra building that you had blown up. That should take an hour or two. Then I’m giving a speech to the Hydra Wives Guild about the importance of Hydra Womanhood.”

Neither of you could help but roll your eyes at that last bit.

“Do you have a speech prepared?”

Both of you knew the answer to that particular question. It was a no. No, you never did. You sent Rebecca a particular look that she met with a youthful giggle, before she patted at her halo of white hair. 

No wonder you looked so tired. You’d been up all-night Becca remembered. Between what you’d done for the resistance and then the time you’d spent with James before he came over to check on her for a uber early breakfast. “Early bed tonight?”

Back your head dropped once more.

God did you feel every bit your age, even if you may not have looked it. “I have a date with your brother.” 

Which Rebecca already knew. But was surprised that you’d keep your end of that bargain. What with how busy you’d been. Granted, you had all weekend to sleep which sounded like one heck of a good time to Rebecca. Meals and TV in her bed. Yes Ma’am. On the other hand, thinking about something true blossoming between the two of you gave her a good feeling, a sense of comfort too. It was something that the both of you deserved.

“Take him to McDonalds. Or else dinner will get real expensive, real quick.”

Up popped your head.

You could easily see the youthful glee in your best friend as she teased you about her brothers enhanced hunger. That same sparkle that had been in her eyes when you’d both run home with sweets, or to play with your dolls.

In a mildly playful manner, you chucked your gloves at her and then kicked off your pumps. Which seemed to be the time that James made his way to the open sliding glass door that led out to the patio. Eating what appeared to be two slices of bread, half a pound of lunch meat with cheese and mustard, wrapped in a paper towel. As the paper towel was essential in keeping crumbs off his mostly black, with some red, dress uniform.

“James has to go to a wake at the Hydra Officers Club. He’s bringing me as his date. He can eat all their food.”

If he was at all offended, James said nothing. Far too busy placating his painfully aching stomach. It’d been since six that morning when he’d last eaten anything. It was more than time. 

Although, as Becca gave him a curl of her lip at the sight of his uniform, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. It felt so familiar. As if he’d been here before, with both you and Rebecca, countless times before, which was weird but his brain still did weird things. It had to have been all the time you and Becca spent together and Becca being his sister. That had to be it. What other reason was there?

He was overthinking it. He knew he overthought a lot of things.

He really needed to stop being so paranoid.

Hydra was already around every corner. He was safe here at Becca’s. He knew where he stood here at his sister’s house. Here there were no secrets or lies. 

His younger sister who now ate dinner at four pm and could barely drive a straight line scrunched up her face in confusion. “Wait…I thought wakes were before funerals?”

To which he just shrugged in response and took a hearty bite of sandwich. 

“Who knows why Hydra does what they do. They probably want to ruin wakes too,” came from your direction.

Considering how hungry he was, he would have greatly enjoyed a buffet before having to stand and sit and stand and sit and then speak about what a great man Pierce had been, how big of a part of his life he was. What he wouldn’t have given to have been able to get drunk, so he could have had a bit of a buzz when had to say those words. Afterwards Steve gave his special words as new director.

Each time James thought Steve couldn’t get any more rigid. Steve went and surprised him.

Barely swallowing his food before he took another bite, like some manner of beast on Shark Week. James devoured those calories with an internal joy he was rediscovering. Taste was such an underrated sense. Both Rebecca’s and your fridge was full of foods that he had loved and was discovering in this new time. He’d thanked Rebecca for telling you what his favorite things were and sharing recipes.

Coca-Cola in a glass bottle. Horseradish. Fresh fruit. Pickles. Cabbage stew.

“Do you have any Motrin Becca? My shoulder is killing me.”

Of course your shoulder was killing you. You’d used a weapon capable of killing a vehicle last night. 

And of course his sister had Motrin. His sisters bathroom was a frigging pharmacy for emergencies just short of requiring a doctor.

“You need to eat something if you’re going to take medicine.” Came from his sister. 

“Fine,” James’s lover sighed. “Bring me three cherries.”

And Jesus if you didn’t look like some sort of unattainable wet dream. Swathed in black, hinted with blood red. But you were though. Not only were you attainable, you were his, just his, only his. You couldn’t be taken away from him. You couldn’t be used against him. He’d made very sure of that fact. Now he was Captain Hydra. No one could take anything from him, ever again. Not when Steve was the Director of Hydra, here and now.

Throwing her Nikes down on the floor. Rebecca stood and declared, “I’ll find you something suitable in the kitchen.” 

Shorter than he remembered, his sister looked over his dress uniform with a shudder. From the knee-high black boots that he’d polished to a shine mindlessly in the living room. All while the boy and Steve had talked about the funeral the previous night. To his black starched pants with the red stripe up the side of either thigh. To the black long-sleeved top. Golden buttons at the cuffs and up his chest with Hydra’s octopus. On one side of his broad chest was a block of different colored ribbons. On the other, medals and pins. His black nametag read Barnes. 

Earlier that morning, he’d pulled his hair back at the nape of his neck so the dress hat would lie flat. That hat was on the counter with black cloth gloves. Exposing his metal hand.

“What’s left in my kitchen anyway,” Rebecca muttered as she passed, bumping him with her hip in a sisterly sort of way.

Like when they were kids. He bumped her back, mindful of how strong he was and careful not to knock her over and seriously injure her now.

Rebecca passed and once more, James turned his attention back to you.

Blue eyes searching. Licking spicy mustard from his thumb.

You watched him watch you. You cocked and eyebrow but said nothing. As much as you despised Hydra and absolutely every single thing they stood for…James looked really good in a uniform. Filled it out perfectly in all the right places and ways. And those boots. _Those boots._

“Kitten, you gotta eat before our date tonight.”

How he said it. How he called you that…it made you curl your toes in anticipation of how wonderful it was going to feel later. Expectation of your night had you squirming into Peter’s oversized furniture bag. 

As great as he looked, you couldn’t do anything now. You needed that build. You needed that small flame to grow. A time had been set. You had a time and a place and a plan and when it came, you were going to climb him like a tree. Not yet though. Not yet. It wasn’t time yet.

“I’ll eat at the wake. This dress was not made to enjoy food in and I have a reputation to uphold.”

One dark eyebrow rose.

Before he took a bite from his sandwich, he made an observation. “If you don’t eat any real food between now and then, you’ll be hell on wheels all afternoon.”

Even he knew how you get when you didn’t eat.

Indeed, you got, as the kids these days called it, hangry. If you missed a meal. Heaven forbid two meals. 

Pursing your painted lips to the side. You lifted up your stocking covered feet to stretch out your legs, press your feet side by side, to then point at James. Who, in what felt like a short amount of time, felt like something true. You couldn’t quite put a word or your finger on it. Nor was it something that could be quantified, as it wasn’t something you’d ever felt before.

You were too old for a boyfriend. Plus, you were not exactly out hunting for husband number three.

Yet, when you looked up at James, you felt different about him compared to how you felt about other men, friends and former husbands. There was a flickering flame when you looked at James. Something burned. You looked forward to seeing him, time spent with him, your talks and meals together. Time spent together that was not necessarily in the nude.

Not that the sex wasn’t something pretty fantastic. It was far more than you could have ever hoped possible. And to think it was because of James. Who could have ever thought it?

“Unless you want to come across as hostile and unapproachable.”

To which you tiled your head to the side. “It works for you.”

That smile he gave you. A quirk of that mouth pulled from a sharply sculpted cheek. 

Never had you ever ever thought you’d be on the receiving end of one of those smiles.

***

The Hydra Officers Club used to be a Mason Temple and had been converted, totally renovated, top to bottom. Up on the stage was a huge Hydra Octopus. On the wooden podium too, burnt into the very wood.

Hydra kept the old hard wood floor. Earlier it had been polished enough a dance could have been held.

The floor felt familiar to James, to you too.

Those old wooden floors had been common when the two of you were growing up. Old decorated ceiling tiles with turn of the century light fixtures. Heavy maroon velvet curtains that hung and smelled musty. All of it hit James somewhere in his head as things that felt like a memory…were a bit fuzzy…but he could almost reach out and touch.

Crystal glasses, platters, plates and serving dishes lined two red table cloth covered tables.

Up on a wall was a movie-poster sized picture of Pierce.

The room was big. Had an old-fashioned bar and maybe forty people, Hydra and Hydra spouses, were milling around, eating and talking and reminiscing. In a wild stroke of either luck or that simmering unapproachable hostility, no one had approached to speak to James. If he played his cards right, he could sneak out of the wake in about ten or twenty minutes without having to speak to anyone.

Minus you of course. 

You were at his side and on your third plate of food. Granted, James would grab a piece of something from your plate every so often, while he sipped his beer, watching everyone in the room closely, catching Steve’s eye every once in a blue moon.

Hat under his arm. Gloves on.

Some sort of music played from the speakers that again, brought him back to before he fell off the train. Hitting up parts of him that picked at the patchwork that was his memory. Reminding him of a string of Christmas lights that were only about half lit.

James found himself standing well within your personal space bubble and momentarily distracted. So much so, that he was genuinely surprised when you stepped up against him, stepped on his shiny boot. 

You stepped up into the curve of his arm. Making James know exactly what had happened.

This had happened before.

You had a thing about being touched by people you didn’t know, especially if they were men. Not that he could blame you. James himself was not fond of strange hands on his body and with a smooth step to the side, you were pulled flush against him. Allowing the both of you could get a good look at a drunken Hydra Officer from Transport.

Said officer stumbled under the support of a friend, towards what appeared to be the bathroom, apologizing perhaps. James couldn’t understand through his slurring. A path cleared where people were bumped into, or grabbed, as the pair attempted to make way towards the facilities.

A clearly agitated man in a colonels uniform from an Eastern European country muttered angrily beneath his breath. Brushed roughly at his uniform with a napkin. Well within spitting distance from James.

Not that James was too concerned. Although a part of his brain told him the colonel was speaking Sokovian. 

“You alright doll?”

Now James knew you were ok. He had his flesh arm around your back. Nothing was going to hurt you ever again on his watch. Still though, he wanted to ask. He wanted to check in with you. He wanted you to hear his voice and use it to center yourself, if needed.

Plus, he really didn’t like that flicker of recognition on the Sokovian Colonel’s face when he stopped swearing, glanced up and set eyes upon the two of you.

James very much wanted him to hear him call you doll, speak to you so knowingly, hold you so close. So very much he wanted to display a degree of ownership over you that would be acceptable, that you would be ok with and sure enough, he was more than a little pleased when you remained against the side of him. 

Plate of food still in hand, you shakily nodded. He could feel it in how close you were on him. “Mmm…he bumped into me. Thought I might trip there for a second.”

You sounded fine, assured, calm, confident in the room of people leaning into him. That stupid little hat with the little veil on your head held firm. As if you didn’t notice anyone else in the room, to include that colonel who was most definitely looking at you with something akin to recognition.

James really didn’t want to kill anyone that night. It really would cut into his special time with you, when the two of you were able to leave in the very near future.

“You,” he softly spoke, accent very much Sokovian. Chestnut hair parted to the side. Brown eyes focused on both of you. “You sat beside me at the funeral.”

You remained quiet.

You knew James would too and thankfully, you held your plate with both hands. As the uniformed man approached to speak. Which was so not what you wanted, but you suspected you had to be social to one person other than the dude tending bar.

Not smiling.

Not sounding particularly excited.

Doing your very best to both look a little put off and leaning even more so against James, you sighed deeply through your nose. “Yes…your Baron what’s-his-face…” Snapping your fingernails, you sorta tilted your head to ask Bucky in a way. “…the colonel who comes from Sokovian Nobility…”

“Colonel Zemo,” Bucky told you, not addressing the colonel himself, far too busy scoping out the exit situation around the room.

“Helmut Zemo,” the colonel amended. “The Baron was my father. I apologize. I am not familiar with your name. I arrived not long after the bombing to aide in rebuilding.”

Oh yeah, three of the five exits in the room were totally possible and in balancing his hat under his arm, James sipped his beer. Metal fingers tinkling on the glass bottle.

“Mrs. Rumlow. Hydra parades me around as a shining beacon of widowhood for all the wives to strive towards.”

The colonel seemed a bit surprised at your transparency.

He looked to a bored Captain Hydra, who very obviously was involved in a sexual relationship with you, then back to you as you looked from your empty plate back to the buffet in a calculating sort of way.

Such easy companionship made Helmut miss his family even more.

“And what does the widow do when not a pawn of Hydra?”

Your eyes found his brown ones again. Followed soon enough by blue curious ones, wondering about the interest but not ready yet to end this new conversation. Not quite yet. Close though.

“Well, colonel,” you smiled downright congenially, especially since he had not attempted to shake your hand or step any closer. “When allowed. I fulfil my position in the medical examiners officer that I had before Hydra…showed up and graced us all with their presence.”

Your words had Helmut’s eyes narrowing, darting around as he processed them, looked you over in a new light. Far less like a child looking to step on a bug and more interested in watching it buzz around.

His voice soft, curious. “And what does one do at the medical examiner’s office?”

He didn’t even seem bothered that Captain Barnes was more interested in watching exits than following this conversation.

“Before, I was a medicolegal death investigator. Now, well, Hydra sometimes lets me do that. Mostly I now do secretarial work, unless they need to consult with me. When it doesn’t interfere with my Hydra duties.”

Blinking came from the good colonel.

Shifting from one foot to the other in his own military dress uniform. “And what is that? That…death investigator?”

A topic for another time if James had his way. 

You were more forgiving. With a shrug and sigh, giving up on one last trip to the buffet. You told the inquisitive Sokovian Military Officer. “Merely an investigator who works for the office of the medical examiner. Gathering evidence to assist in suspicious or violent…unexplained…deaths, to help them discover cause and manner of death. If you’re that interested, you should come by on Monday or Friday. I am always in the office those days. I could give you a tour.”

“Perhaps I may do that. It sounds fascinating.”

***

You were not proud of yourself.

It was not your finest moment, all things considered.

Although, in the grand scheme of things, it could hardly have been a shock, or much of a surprise that the second James parked in your garage, hit the button to close your garage door up on your visor and tossed you your car keys, that you would have launched yourself across the front seat.

Because you were ready.

You were so ready.

You were more than ready.

To say you launched yourself like a projectile into the drivers seat, onto James’s muscular thighs as you grabbed his face and kissed him like your life depended on it, would have been a mildly good summary of your actions.

You simply could not wait another second.

The ride home had been interminable.

Filled with talk about the colonel and funeral, discussing what Steve would do now that he was director, upcoming resistance plans. Such talk continued when he pulled your car into the garage. Oblivious to the fire that raged deep within you. Not till he turned to look at you, give you a kind smile and survey you for signs. As if to determine how the rest of his evening was going to go.

And god bless him. As you kissed him and took his face in your demanding hands, smoothed your palms over his cheeks, climbed into his lap as best as you could in your outfit, which was not made for any sort of activity outside of standing or sitting. James made sure to inquire, as you lost a shoe. “Ok? You’re ok? This is ok?”

It was ok. You were ok. It was more than ok.

After everything that day, you needed to be touched. You needed to be kissed. You needed his hands on you. You needed him to take your clothes off. After everything that the two of you had to do over the stretch of your day, you needed to make it all go away. You wanted to forget about everything and sink into him with your body, heart and soul. There was a weird tightness in your chest you’d never felt. A heat to your cheeks when you thought of him, looked at him.

Lately, your mind would wander in ways it hadn’t since you were a teenager. Since you and Becca would watch the neighborhood boys play baseball in the street, talking about who was most handsome and who both of you wanted to marry.

You found yourself thinking about James and things you could do together for the resistance, meals you could share, dates…the future.

Most enthusiastically you nodded. “Yes, yes, please yes. I’m ok. I’m good. I want you. I want you right now and I want you to do that thing you did last time. Please Jimmy. Please, please, please…”

And how could he deny you anything when you begged like that? When you wanted him that much, when you were so hungry and needy, stripped down to a base level? A woman who wanted a man. Not the widow or Hydra pawn or resistance member. Not looking at him as the Winter Soldier, as Captain Hydra or broken, or anything other than James.

Somehow, in some unknown way, James was able to get open the driver’s door, get both boots on the concrete garage floor and stand without pulling your mouth away from his neck. It was something that he would always be proud of in the future. A memory he’d hold dear. Considering your dress did not allow for any manner of romantic carry. Relegating him to wrapping arms around your waist to get you up off the floor four or five inches. Sending your other shoe clattering to the floor.

Stumbling and kicking shut the driver’s side door and wobbling towards the garage door, in the mess of boxes and Brock’s crap that was stored in your garage.

How he managed to get into your house without tripping on a box of old work commendations and certificates was a feat in and of itself. Considering he was always tripping on that damn box, or Brock’s old weight bench and weights that had been drug into the garage and abandoned a few steps from the garage door. Each weight spreading out a bit more each time he was in there.

Although, upon kicking shut the garage door too, since his boots seemed to be made for all kinds of kicking, James found himself shoved up against a wall with a genuine lack of access to you.

Sure, his hands were roaming freely up and down your sides. But there was not much to feel. Your dress was too long for his hands to slip under. It was too snug for him to get into. A need to feel your skin was rising until he could bear it no more.

“Babe. Kitten. Sweetheart,” he began breathlessly, kissing and sucking on your mouth, your lips and tongue in time with you, not even caring about lipstick smearage. Not with how long he’d had to wait for this moment. “This dress has to come off. I can’t feel a thing. How does it come off?”

One more long drawn out kiss was stolen from him by you.

Not that you didn’t disagree. But, you wanted one more kiss. One more. A single more kiss before you turned in the front entranceway of your home, where you’d left a light on for your planned late-night return. Not for this reason. Never could you ever have imagined yourself this ravenous for touch and pleasure, yet, James brought it out in you piece by piece. You had to salute yourself for the foresight. Sometimes you were really on the ball. 

Lifting one arm, you reached for a small zipper toggle that was hidden in a seam.

A rush of soft profanities spilled from him that made you smile. 

After a few inches of unzipping, James took over with a metal hand, soft mechanical noises coming from the arm as he tugged the zip down the length of your side. Until a soft brushing of the dress becoming loose and rubbing against the layers of shapewear beneath could be heard.

Even more soft words came forth from his mouth. Including one that caught your attention, made you pause.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen undergarments like these.”

It’d taken you forever to find them too. Lingerie that you’d grown up wearing. Before comfort and safety and whether a woman really needed to breathe, or be concerned about just where she was pushing her internal organs became a legitimate concern.

Shrugging out of the long sleeves, you gently teased him as your dress floated down to the floor in a heap by your feet. No longer numb after being on your feet all day. “It took me ages to find these, so be careful with them. They hook up the back.”

Not that you needed to tell him how to take off ladies lingerie from the time when the two of you had been young.

A hint of a smile on his lips told you he remembered that part of his past.

He moved behind you. Fingers danced over the stretchy stiff fabric that clung tightly to you. Eye hooks were opened quickly, with ease. How ironic that a Barnes had helped you into it and a Barnes was helping you out of it. Two different Barnes’s, but still. 

You reached out to press your hands onto the corner table, where you tossed your mail and keys and whatever else. A sturdy antique table that you gripped in your anticipation.

“Jimmy? You’ll keep on your uniform and boots for me?”

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Not even a little surprised at how quickly James was freeing you, relieving the pressure from your shapewear.

“Absolutely. For the first couple times Kitten.”

For the first couple times?

Making a face, you peered over your shoulder at him. 

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Pop. Pop. Pop. 

“Take that stupid hat off for me Kitten. I wanna run my fingers through your hair.”

Having long forgotten about your lipstick. You licked your lips, watching him dip lower and lower. “Will you do that thing you did last time first?”

James paused.

His hands stilled over the clasps down your spine. Eyes lifting to find yours. If the house caught on fire, James wouldn’t have felt any hotter than he did in that exact second. 

As quickly as humanly possible, he pulled on the lingerie until it peeled off you like a second skin. 

Not even taking a second to pause and survey the sight.

Not with that mental image in mind of what you wanted, what you kept asking for and shit if he wasn’t about to give it to you. All to you. He would give you whatever you asked for. Now free to do what he wanted with his body for the most part.

“Turn around,” James spoke against your hair. Kissing the shell of your ear before you could start to unpin the little hat and so eager for carnal intimacy, you turned in his arms, let him lift you up with ease till your ass came to rest on the small corner table and your shoulders pressed into the corner, where two walls met near the front door.

Briefly cool blue pools flickered over the violet bruising on your shoulder from yesterday, before going down to where you opened your legs as wide as possible to expose yourself, open yourself for him, for what you wanted so much, what you wanted to watch again.

When James unbuckled himself then unbuttoned and zipped his pants, you licked your lips, chewed on your bottom one in anticipation. That knowledge that he had your total attention was something of an aphrodisiac. 

Your gaze was locked when he pulled out his erect penis.

No fear. No unease. No nothing.

Only a sense of anticipation of what awaited.

Standing before you in that black and red uniform, all buttoned up and covered with medals and ribbons. So neat and tidy and concise. Making the exposure of his erection downright obscene.

Every time you looked at him, you were flummoxed that he could fit inside of you. It did not seem possible.

His shaft always looked so intimidating, veins tracing up the sides. Thick crowned head   
almost always smeared with his white pre-release. You found yourself shifting up to watch. Wanting to see him do this as you had last time. As it was seared so thoroughly in your memory.

“Open that beautiful pussy for me.”

Reaching down with one hand, you spread your smooth lips open for him. Cool air on your heated organ made you realize the true extent of your building hunger. “At night…I think about this and touch myself.”

James’s dick twitched at your confession.

“Yeah? You thought about what I did?”

You nodded that it was indeed true. You thought about him a lot. More than someone your age with your life experiences probably should have honestly. 

How could you not? When the feeling of his tip smoothing along your soft slippery flesh felt so good? Leaning back against the wall made your shoulder protest, still you did not dare make a noise out of fear he’d stop. Stop stroking you with the head of his engorged penis. Stop dipping it back to collect more of your slippery arousal to paint you with, from clit to slit. Stop pumping his shaft, twisting the smooth length firmly, furthering his pleasure as well as yours, until you found yourself pulling the hood of your clit back to further expose yourself for him.

Now slippery from you, the feeling of his shaft rubbing alongside your clit pushed you. James stroked you with his tip. Rubbed his shaft against that most sensitive nerve filled part of you in no real hurry, fisting himself in the process. Taking his sweet time to side back to collect more of your arousal that pooled out of you and dripped down.

“Think about me a lot?”

Biting your bottom lip, you nodded as you watched him push that mushroom shaped part of him back up to your clit. Glistening with you.

“Think about you a lot too.”

Soaking your clit with your own cum, James began to rub against the little round part of you how he knew you got off on, close himself. Confessing. “Think about what you’re doing. Think about when I’ll see you next. Think about how you feel all wrapped around my cock.”

“Shit…Jimmy…” you gasped out painfully, twisting from almost but not quite.

Based on the smirk he had he knew. Oh he most definitely knew.

“Bout to come if you wanna see.”

Hell yeah you wanted to see. You hadn’t been obsessing over this since last time to not see, not watch. Pitching your head forward against his, you peered down at the both of your most basic parts and watched. Watched him pump his thick cock from base to near the tip. Watched the head spit out white spurts of cum on your clit, over your finger and across one engorging smooth curve of your labia. Warm and sticky, almost pearl in color.

Hell if it didn’t do something for him too. Ejaculating all over your smooth pussy checked off more than a few satisfactory boxes. Grunting with each powerful tremble of his orgasm, James came powerfully over your other lip. He painted your clit till it was covered with his release and then moved up to your mound. Coming in pulsing heated jets over your waxed sex.

Feeling his sac tighten, a pained noise came from him. Sweat collected along his spine as his orgasm stretched near its end. Close. Not yet there.

“Cover me with it, James. I love how much you come. I love when you play with me with it. I love when you push it inside me.”

Those words pushed him over the edge.

Blinding white hot sensation hit him, took him, sent his hand powering down till the last final ropes came, covering your clit and below, sliding down to drool towards your slit. And only when he was sure that he was done, James reached out with his flesh hand to smear his cum around, cover your pussy entirely, push it up in you, rub it around your clit till you began to twitch, jerk from the sensation.

You held yourself open that entire time, finally satisfied to watch that carnality unfold before you once more. 

***

Soft touches to your back, your shoulder, made you stir from the haze you’d collapsed under on your bed.

“Kitten…can you go again?”

Could you go again?

When was the last time you’d gone?

Head fuzzy. Body warm, cozy.

Yes though.

Yes.

Always yes.

Your bedroom was dimly lit with your nightstand lamp as you lifted your head, looked over your shoulder, nodding, moaning in affirmation.

It had not been long, the amount of time you’d been intimate with James. You trusted him though. You trusted him with your body. You trusted him not to hurt you. You trusted him not to violate you, or that trust. He had never yet given you a reason to fear him.

Feeling him move around behind you was not frightening anymore. Nor did you grow concerned when one flesh hand and one metal hand slid over your thighs, encouraging you to lift your hips up. Until you rested on your elbows and knees when he was done, gently moving you to where he wanted. A position that you had never tried out with him, or at all, previously. 

Once more though, you were not afraid.

James knew what positions frightened you or made you feel uncomfortable. He seemed perfectly content to not be on top of you for the time being. Up in that head of his, there seemed to be an untapped wealth of sexual acts that did not require him pinning you down, trapping you.

Relaxed, comfortable, you watched James grab a bottle from that same nightstand and squirt a healthy amount of lube onto his healthy erection. Watched as he smeared it over his length and then pushed loose hair from his face, uncaring about getting lube or whatever else in his hair. His muscular golden body unclothed and bathed in dim light and shadows, metal arm catching the light if he moved just right.

When you spoke to him, your voice was low. Husky. It rolled out smooth. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time in bed, in my entire life. You’re turning me into a fiend.”

A soft chuckle came from James.

The moment was soft. It was warm and safe and beneath you the bed was messy but soft. You found yourself arching when two metal fingers ran along your messy pussy. Both of you were in desperate need of a shower. It was a certainty that between your legs was a mess of biological release from the both of you.

His metal fingers were warm while unyielding when they pushed into you, testing, exploring.

“Goddamn you always feel so good.”

A noise came from you when he pushed in to the knuckle, able to make out in the low light of the room the copious amounts of bodily fluids smeared on you. The further in James pushed his fingers, cum and your own bodily arousal began to ooze out around his fingers.

What an odd thing to say.

Rebecca used to call him that, playfully, whenever he’d return home from a date that had gone exceptionally well. You spent more than enough time with Rebecca these days, she was bound to have started that up again.

Why on earth was he thinking about his sister now?

Now of all times especially?

“Please…” you whispered, dropping your head down into a pile of blankets and pillows. How could he do this to you? Turn you into such a sexual creature after a lifetime of feeling nothing but trepidation about the act. Before you used to beg your first husband to stop, or close your eyes and wait for Brock to be done. Now…you were begging, anticipating, participating in the act.

The feeling of his erection running along your thigh, or pushing into you was no longer a cause for alarm. At the moment it notched up to you, you pushed back onto him, catching him in your opening and seating him a few inches, pushing yourself onto him.

A hard and a soft palm smoothed over your back as James pushed his length deep within you. Deeper than it had ever seemed to go before, or perhaps it was the angle. All you knew was it sent your face into the blankets with a groan, one that punched out of you from the feeling of tightness within being spread open.

It didn’t hurt.

Although you could most certainly feel every last part of him inside of you. You felt what you were sure were new parts of you too.

“Don’t worry, Kitten. I’ll go slow. Breathe deep. Slow and steady. Let me know when it’s not so tight.” Because he could feel just how tight you were like this, how your body clenched around him like a fucking fist. James closed his eyes. He smoothed his hands over the small of your back and slowly inched his way forward, inched his way back. Inched his way forward, swiveled his hips and inched his way back. His metal hand sank down between your taut thighs to stroke your clit and he couldn’t help but feel a bit fiendish.

Goddamn it, Becca.

She was not who he wanted to think about now, not now, especially not now.

Why the hell was she sticking in his head. And fiend. What in the hell was wrong with him? He was very near balls deep in his best girl for the third time that night and visions of a teenage Rebecca calling him a fiend kept popping up. Memories of their childhood home bubbled up. Rebecca and her friend that was always around.

Jesus were you clenching around him like a vice. Soft noises came from you that had James opening his eyes, seeing a floor length mirror straight ahead next to your dresser. Letting him see himself in the dark room, behind you on his knees. “Open your eyes…look,” he managed to croak out. Which also happened to be when you began to push back against him, arching your spine, seeking out more stimulation than he was providing as he allowed you to get used to this new position. A thing he did in bed with you. More than content to wait for you to be ready, to get comfortable, to feel safe. Knowing that it would always be worth whatever wait for you.

James watched your eyes blink open, flutter dreamily. Your body pushing back to meet his soft pushes, beginning a give and take between your bodies, to build up for that eventual shattering release.

Sinking in finally to the root. James watched your eyes find the mirror. Watching you take in the sight of you both. Pushing up against you, he let out a moan at the sensation of warm sloppy wetness between your sex organs, at the sensation of his sac resting against you, his thighs pressed against the back of yours, the feel of your foot curling around his calf.

Setting a gentle pace, he watched you watch the two of you in the mirror, equally transfixed by the sight.

A fiend for sure.

And you did it again. Not even realizing that you were doing it.

From your mouth tumbled a few hazy words, thick from how he was making you feel and god did he make you feel beyond wonderful. Words came that you didn’t think twice about. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph…”

Words that jogged something else. 

Tugged on something in the murky depths of his memory.

On the edge and out of his reach.

Making him groan out and not from the lifechanging way your felt core clenched around his cock. Hints of an accent began to peek out from the hazy place his head was located. “Kitten…you gotta stop spending so much time with my sister. You’re starting to sound like her…its killin me.”

Because shit of all things, was it Becca or Becca’s little friend who was always saying that? Or his mom? No, not his mom. His mother was way too much of a good Catholic to use that phrase. Making James positive it was either Rebecca or her friend. Why on earth was he thinking about Becca and her old friend from the neighborhood? When he was having sex, here and now, with you?

A soft laugh came from you.

If he only knew. Not that you could tell him. Ever. How could you explain what happened to you, when you had no idea what had exactly happened yourself?

“Stop thinking about your sister when you’re inside of me,” spilled from you lips, making him snort out at the absurdity. 

You were right.

It had been a weird day. 

Between the funeral and having to speak about Pierce. Then the Officers Club that reminded him so much of places from when he and Becca grew up. Those things had become trapped in his head. They were making memories float up like bubbles to the surface. 

It was nothing.

It was him recovering from Hydra breaking him open and remaking him. 

Shaking that away, James instead focused on your ass pressing against him. He focused on the way your cunt milked him, forgetting that he still played with your clit with metal fingers. 

In the mirror he found your eyes and was able to watch your body move beneath him.   
Stealing his focus away for the here and now.

Watching that reflection, James met every one of your pushes back into him. Meeting you hunger for hunger. Diving into you repeatedly. Finding you warm and deliciously snug, hungry, clenching around him, pulling him back in as if your body didn’t want him to leave. Metal digits continued to stroke you. Fucking you towards an orgasm that he knew for sure would have you gasping beneath him.

Even with the lube, he could feel you grow wetter, more aroused, slicker. Sucking noises soon began that wound up making his balls slap lewdly against your ripe flesh.

His name began to fall from your lips. Over and over, in a chant for absolution.

James nearly came when you pushed yourself up off the mattress. Pushed yourself up onto your hands to get more purchase, to push yourself back onto him more, allowing him to see your breasts sway. Harder he rutted into you. More they swung. Topped with soft nipples that he’d sucked hungrily on earlier.

Unable to help himself, James pulled his metal arm from between your thighs. Metal plates moving around in the process, aligning for what needed to be done.

Grabbing you around the front, cupping your breasts and pulling you up against him. Never once leaving you or slowing in his steady thrusts in. Clenching your breasts between his fingers. Flesh hand smooth and metal hand slippery with your cum. He kept his steady pace as you gasped and came at the new angle. 

Climaxing powerfully in a red scorching heat. Feeling the walls of your core light up, twist in a surge of pleasure that tingled and overwhelmed in its intensity. Thighs trembling. Fingers only barely reaching bedding to grip. A loud cry came from you, as James continued to pound into your clenching, tightening, spasming body with animalistic urgency. Making grunting noises each time he bottomed out. Filthy sopping noises came from where you two were connected.

His chest was feverish against your back, sweaty too.

Against the back of your head he hissed out. Close. Your own releasing further stretched out the more he fucked you, held your breasts and groped your nipples. You knew when he came, because his motions grew sloppy and his grip grew tight. You opened your eyes and watched in the mirror as James lost himself completely, deep inside of you.

No, you could never tell him, never risk this. You’d never risk this.

Reaching up, you sank your fingers into his messy hair. Enjoyed the feel of his hips pushing into the back of yours, his slippery pelvis rubbing against you as he emptied himself into you, not for the first time that night.

Even in his state, not entirely out of the hold from his orgasm, James made sure to lower the two of you on your sides. So as not to risk collapsing on top of you. Thinking of you and your needs before his brain and body had a chance to catch up.

Never could you ever risk something so precious and sacred…was the last coherent thought you had for a long while.


End file.
